m 


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STORIES  &  PERSE 
of  WILLIAMS 

EDITED   BY 

ALFRED  DUDLEY  BRITTON 
PHILIP  RICHARDS  DUNBAR 
CHARLES  FISHER  HEPBURN 


WILL1AMSTQWN  •  PUBLISHED  BY 
THE     EDITORS,    M  D  C  C  C  C 


Copyright,    zpoo,    by 
ALFRED  DUDLEY  BRITTON 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS    .    JOHN  WILSON 
AND  SON   .     .    CAMBRIDGE,   U.  S.  A. 


TO 

LOUIS  LEGRAND  DRAPER 

IN    RECOGNITION    OF   HIS   UNTIRING    DEVOTION    TO   THE 
FOOTBALL   INTERESTS  OF   WILLIAMS. 


R71S36 


FOREWORD 

CT*HE  quality  of  the  work  which  has  appeared  In  the 
"Lit."  during  the  past  four  years  has  stamped  that 
period  as  the  most  successful  which  the  literary  Interests 
of  Williams  have  enjoyed.  This,  coupled  with  the  fact 
that  no  bound  volumes  of  the  "  Lit"  have  been  put  on 
sale,  has  led  the  editors  to  the  belief  that  there  was  a  field 
for  a  book  containing  the  best  stories  and  verse  Included 
In  the  "Lit."  during  this  period. 

That  the  book  has  merits,  the  Editors  feel  sure;  that 
It  will  In  some  measure  appeal  to  Williams  men  and  be 
accorded  their  support,  Is  the  sincere  wish  of  those  who 
have  enjoyed  Its  compilation. 

For  kind  permission  to  reprint  several  selections,  thanks 
are  due  the  "  /poo  Gul."  and  "  Cap  and  Gown"  Second 
Series  (L.  C.  Page  &  Co.,  Publishers). 


Table  of  Contents 


c  /  .     \  \  itu  i< 
lUjM***^- 


PAGE 

PROVIDENCE  AND  THE  Boss    .........        I 

Charles  Newman  Hall,  '  'oo. 

THE  GYPSY  STRAIN    ...........       4 

Arthur  Ketchum,  "98. 

POOR  LITTLE  REGINALD  ..........       5 

Percival  Henry  Truman,  *p8. 

THE  SPANISH  GALLEON    ..........       7 

Charles  Nenuman  Hall,  ""oo. 

THE  FRECKLELESS  VILLAGE    .........       9 

Philip  Richards  Dunbar,  *  oo. 

GOOD  JACOBITES  ALL       ..........     23 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *p8. 

No  ROBBERY    ........     .....     25 

y<?^«  Saunders  Oakman,  "go. 

MASTER  FRA^OIS  SINGS        .........      27 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *o8. 

A  RAGAMUFFIN  SANTA  GLAUS    ........     28 

Alfred  Dudley  Britton,  ''oo. 

NANTUCKET      .............     37 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *p8. 

THE  END  OP  IT    ...........     .38 

Percival  Henry  Truman,  *o$. 
iz 


Table  of  Contents 

PAGE 

BARBARA 40 

Arthur  Ketchum,  '98. 

"  GREATER  LOVE  HATH  No  MAN  " 41 

Charles  Fisher  Hepburn,  '00. 

ON  BOARD  THE  "  GOLDEN  SWALLOW  " 50 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *p8. 

A  STAMPEDE 52 

Albert  Hopkins,  '00. 

CERVERA  AT  ANNAPOLIS        56 

Henry  Rutgers  Couger,  'pp. 

ADVICB      '  > 57 

Percival  Henry  Truman,  *p^. 

SACRAMENT 59 

Arthur  Ketchum,  ^8. 
His  SON'S  ENEMIES 60 

Dudley  Butler,  *oo. 

Nox  CHRISTI 64 

Arthur  Ketchum,  '98. 

r «  ^U  .  AN  OBSCURE  HEROINE 67 

Philip  Richards  Dunbar,  *oo. 

THEY  SAY  HER  FACE  is  PASSING  FAIR 69 

John  Barker,  'pp. 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GOD 70 

Charles  Newman  Hall,  *00. 

THE  CUIRASSIER 84 

John  Clarkson  Jay,  *07. 

HERB  o*  GRACE 85 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *p£. 
x 


Table  of  Contents 

PACT 

AT  SAINT  FORTUN£ 93 

Arthur  Ketchum,  '98. 
FABLE 94 

Percwal  Henry  Truman,  *g8. 

FROM  HILOISE  TO  ABELARD       .    ...    • .   .'    ...    ...     96 

Arthur  Ketchum,  '98. 

APPLIED  MATHEMATICS 97 

Per  aval  Henry  Truman,  *p<5*. 

As  TOLL 109 

John  Barker,  *pp. 

AT  MONTE  CARLO not 

Dudley  Butler,  *oo. 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  CAVALIERS 113 

James  Brewer  Corcoran,  ex-  oi» 

"  WHICH  PASSETH  ALL  UNDERSTANDING  "   .     .     .     .     116 
Charles  fisher  Hepburn,  *oo. 

AT  THE  DAWN 122 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *g8. 
THE  LEPER 123 

John  Sounders  Oakman,  'pp. 

A  SONG  FOR  SEAFARERS 130 

Arthur  Ketchum,  'p& 

PRINCIPLE 131 

John  Saunders  Oakman,  *pp. 

To  A  DREAMER 133 

James  Onven  Try  on,  *oo. 

A  LETTER  AND  A  POSTSCRIPT 134 

Arthur  Lanvson  Goodwillie,  *07. 

MY  LADY  GOES  TO  THE  PLAY 138 

Arthur  Ketchum,  J$8. 
xi 


Table  of  Contents 

PACK 

AT  A  Music  HALL 140 

Henry  Rutgers  Couger,  ^99. 

DEAD  FOLKS'  HOUR 144 

Arthur  Ketchum,  ^98. 

NOT  WITHOUT  PRECEDENT 145 

Per  rival  Henry  Truman,  '98. 

IN  THE  HILLS 148 

Arthur  Ketchum,  '98. 

THE  OTHER  MAN'S  WIFE 149 

Albert  Hopkins,  'oo. 

CAPTIVES 152 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *g8. 

THE  OTHER  LIFE 153 

Philip  Richards  Dunbar,  9oo. 

THE  AUTUMN  CALL 155 

James  Owen  Try  on,  *oo. 

WHITE  ROSES 158 

Arthur  Ketchum,  '98. 

PAGAN  TO  PRIEST 164 

Arthur  Ketchum,  ^98. 

FRIENDSHIP  ABOVE  PAR        165 

Alfred  Dudley  Britton,  *oo. 

IN  THE  DARK 169 

James  Bisset  Pratt,  "98. 

A  REVERIE 170 

Per  rival  Henry  Truman,  ^98. 

A  SONG  OF  SPORT 173 

James  Brewer  Corcoran,  ex- 01* 
xii 


Table  of  Contents 

PAGE 

DUETS 175 

Arthur  Laewson  Goodwill'ie,  1 '01. 
AN  EPITAPH 177 

Arthur  Ketchum,  ^98. 

FOUNDED  ON  FACT 178 

Arthur  Ketchum,  "98. 

THE  AMOROUS  SCIENTIST 181 

James  Bisset  Pratt,  ^98. 

A  SONG  OF  OTHER  DAYS .     182  - 

Arthur  Lawuson  Good*williet  "01. 

IN  BOHEMIA 184 

Arthur  Ketchum,  ^98. 

THAT  BABINGTON  AFFAIR 1 86 

John  Barker,  "99. 

CONVICTION 189 

John  Barker,  *pp. 

THE  PRINCE  OF  GREATER  NEW  YORK 190 

Per  rival  Henry  'Truman,  'p<?. 

A  RELIC 197 

Arthur  Ketchum,  ^8. 

A  BARGAIN 198 

John  Saunders  Oakman,  1 'pp. 

A  BALLAD  OF  DOROTHY 200 

Arthur  Ketchum,  *p8. 

AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE  HEART 202 

John  Saunders  Oakman,  'pp. 

NOEL 204 

Arthur  Ketchum,  'ptf. 
xiii 


Table  of  Contents 

PAGE 

THREE  PIPES 206 

Trcadwell  Cleveland,  Jr.,  'p/. 

*99  CLASS  POEM 210 

Henry  Rutgers  Couger,  'pp. 

"THE  BLIND  RECEIVE  THEIR  SIGHT" 215 

Charles  Newman  Hall,  *oo. 

AT  THE  END* 222 

Arthur  Ketchum,  'p& 


xiv 


STORIES  &  VERSE 
of  WILLIAMS 


PROVIDENCE  AND  THE  BOSS 

THE  Limited  was  rushing  down  river,  through 
the  growing  dawn.  Telegraph  poles,  woods, 
and  hillsides,  intermitted  here  and  there  by  the  zig- 
zag of  the  fences,  went  hurrying  by  in  quick  succes- 
sion, and  the  mists  out  in  the  river  spun  around  like 
a  top.  Fifty-five  seconds  to  the  mile,  said  the  engi- 
neer's watch,  for  they  were  making  up  time. 

It  was  a  morning  when  human  mortality  seemed 
an  impossibility,  and  that  particular  river  valley  an 
instalment  of  Paradise. 

The  political  boss  and  the  sycophant  sat  by  the 
car-window,  and  surveyed  the  universe  with  the  well- 
satisfied  air  of  proprietors. 

"  It 's  a  pleasure  to  live,  such  mornings,"  said  the 
boss.  "  How  it  can  be  just  for  any  man  to  be  taken 
away  before  his  threescore  years  and  ten,  is  more  than 
I  can  see."  And,  having  delivered  this  home-thrust 
at  Providence,  he  turned  to  the  business  of  the  day. 

"Yes,  as  to  Higgins  —  well,  he  may  be  capable 

and    honest,  but   he  's  just  a   few  square  yards  too 

honest  for  his  place.     Perhaps  he  is  faithful  to  the 

party ;  but  after  this  he  '11  wish  he  'd  fired  the  man  as 

i  i 


Providence  and  the  Boss 

I  ordered  him,  instead  of  talking  about  honest  and 
efficient  helpers,  and  saying  he  has  the  legal  right  to 
retain  them,  even  after  I've  said  'no.'  At  10.30 
the  city  government  will  dispense  with  Higgins's  ser- 
vices. No  doubt  he  '11  have  a  hard  time  in  these 
days,  getting^  another,  place,  but  I  can't  help  that.  I 
sup'pose  if  I  -wis  Jivmg  in  old  Jerusalem  when  Moses 
was  .mayor,,  (an,d  Methuselah  chief-of-police,  I  'd  get 
•  '"-'',  With  a  'thunderbolt,  or  some  other 


heavenly  ordnance,  but  they  don't  do  business  that 
way  in  our  times.  If  a  mountain  gets  in  a  man's 
way,  the  mountain  goes  up  in  dynamite  smoke.  If 
Providence  gets  in  mine,  why  —  "  And  the  boss  gave 
a  grim  smile,  which  told  clearer  than  words  the  fate 
of  Providence  in  such  a  case.  Men  don't  seem  to 
fear  Providence  much  nowadays,  and  politicians, 
especially,  can  afford  to  treat  it  with  easy  and  scorn- 
ful superiority. 

Sixty-six  miles  an  hour,  said  the  watch  of  the 
engineer,  and  the  big  drivers  revolved  three  hundred 
times  a  minute;  as  for  the  truck-wheels,  Heaven  knows 
how  fast  they  went  around.  The  great  engine  took 
a  curve  of  two  thousand  feet  radius  as  if  it  were  a 
clock-dial,  and  then  went  swaying  down  the  long 
tangent  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  cinders. 

Six  o'clock  —  and  the  beauty  of  the  morning  was 
settling  down  like  a  garment.  The  sun  was  up, 
though  the  shadowy  hills  still  hid  him  from  view. 

They  came  to  the  bridge  where  the  river  pierced 
the  embankment  and  connected  with  the  great,  shal- 
low bay  inside.  The  mists  hung  heavy  in  there,  and 
even  half  shrouded  the  bridge.  Strong  was  the  struc- 
ture, —  tested,  true;  and  as  the  engine  and  six  bril- 

2 


Providence  and  the  Boss 

liantly  lighted  cars  thundered  upon  it,  it  faithfully 
transmitted  the  stress  to  every  part.  Chord,  bar,  and 
main  diagonal  trembled  with  the  swift  vibration,  but 
there  was  no  fault  in  them.  The  keen  foresight  of  the 
engineer  had  provided  for  all  that,  and  interminable 
computations  stood  sponsor  for  every  part ;  but  Fate 
sat  on  the  engine  pilot,  and  she  cancels  whole  yards 
of  figures  and  sets  down  a  zero  in  their  place. 

It  was  6.05  by  the  engineer's  watch,  and  the 
minute-hand  never  passed  the  thin  Roman  I.  Out 
over  the  river  went  the  train,  with  morning  air  above, 
and  only  air  and  water  below;  and  then  two  hundred 
windows,  bright  with  the  gleam  of  the  Pintsch  lights, 
went  down  in  the  eclipse  of  the  waters,  and  a  score 
of  souls  "  fled  indignant  to  the  shades." 

The  steam  of  the  exploded  boiler  leaped  a  mile  into 
the  clear,  warm  summer  blue,  and  the  great  locomo- 
tive sagged  over  in  shallow  water,  while  the  upper 
drivers  flew  round  and  round,  and  churned  up  a  yel- 
low foam.  The  fish  crept  up  through  the  twisted 
and  shattered  debris,  and  gazed  with  startled  eyes  at 
the  broken  valve-stem,  thrashing  around,  and  then 
fled  precipitately  to  the  depths. 

They  found  the  boss  and  the  sycophant  bowed 
low,  with  staring  eyes  looking  this  way  and  that 
down  the  long,  gloomy  car,  and  dreaming  dreams 
which  are  not  of  time  or  space. 

And  all  around  was  the  ineffable  freshness  and  per- 
fume of  the  morning,  with  odor  of  woods  and  song 
of  birds;  and  down  in  the  city  it  was  10.30,  and 
Higgins  still  kept  his  place. 


The  Gypsy  Strain 


THE  GYPSY  STRAIN 

IT  comes  with  the  autumn's  silence, 
When  great  Hills  dream  apart, 
And  far  blue  leagues  of  distance 
Call  to  the  Gypsy-heart. 

When  all  the  length  of  sunny  roads, 

A  lure  to  restless  feet, 
Are  largesses  of  goldenrod 

And  beck  of  bitter-sweet. 

Then  the  wand'rer  in  us  wakens 
And  outs  from  citied  girth, 

To  go  a-vagabonding  down 
The  wide  ways  of  the  Earth. 


Poor  Little  Reginald 


POOR  LITTLE  REGINALD 

1  HAD  n't  seen  Mrs.  Peter  before  —  young  Mrs. 
Peter,  I  mean  —  since  Easter.     That  was  nearly 
six   months   before,  and   in    six    months,  I    protest, 
one  may  be   forgiven   for  forgetting   a  great    many 
things. 

We  conversed  for  some  little  time  about  common- 
places not  worth  the  repeating. 

"  You  remember  little  Reginald  ?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Van  Holt  at  last,  with  a  plaintive  droop  of  the  voice. 

I  hesitated  long  enough  to  review  mentally  a  squad- 
ron of  yellow-haired  and  leather-belegginged  little 
Lord  Fauntleroys,  who  belonged  severally  to  the 
young  married  ladies  of  my  acquaintance.  Was  there 
a  Reginald  among  them  ?  I  thought  so.  Still  — 
"You  cannot  have  forgotten  Reginald,  I  am  sure," 
she  added,  a  little  reproachfully,  with  emphasis  on 
the  "sure." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  answered  quickly ;  "  who  could 
forget  the  dear  little  fellow  ?  " 

"  We  lost  him  last  summer,"  said  she,  sadly. 

"  I  cannot  express  how  your  words  grieve  and  sur- 
prise me,"  I  hastened  to  say.  "  It  is  very  strange 
that  I  did  not  hear  of  it.  Was  he  ill  long  ? " 

u  He  was  n't  ill  exactly  —  I  should  n't  say,"  she 
replied  pensively.  "  He  died  of  internal  injuries,  the 
doctor  said." 

"  An  accident  ?  "  I  suggested  sympathetically. 
5 


Poor  Little  Reginald 

"  Yes ;  he  was  run  over  by  a  cab  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  died  a  few  hours  later." 

"  How  dreadful !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  What  a  shock 
it  must  have  given  you,  Mrs.  Van  Holt." 

"  I  am  sure  it  did.  Indeed,  Peter  said  it  was  wrong 
for  me  to  take  it  so  much  to  heart  as  I  did.  He  said 
it  was  a  sin ;  but  I  don't  think  it  was,  do  you  ? " 

"  The  duty  of  restraining  one's  grief  at  the  losses 
of  those  one  loves  is  a  duty  more  honored  in  the 
breach  than  in  the  observance,  I  fancy,"  said  I.  I 
felt  quite  proud  of  that  remark.  For  a  man  not 
given  to  making  moral  reflections,  it  seemed  to  me 
rather  good. 

"  Now  you  are  laughing  at  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Van 
Holt,  pettishly.  "  You  men  have  no  feeling,  any  of 
you." 

"  You  wrong  me,  I  assure  you,"  I  protested  ve- 
hemently. Peter  Van  Holt  might  be  a  brute,  but  I 
was  not.  "You  wrong  me  deeply,"  I  continued, 
"  in  believing  for  a  moment  I  would  scoff  at  maternal 
affection,  that  purest  —  " 

I  stopped.  There  was  something  like  a  smile  lurk- 
ing in  Mrs.  Van  Holt's  features.  Then  I  realized 
my  blunder.  I  was  furious.  How,  in  Heaven's  name, 
could  a  man  be  expected  to  remember  all  the  misera- 
ble little  curs  that  foolish  women  might  choose  to 
lavish  their  affections  upon. 

"  We  have  been  having  beautiful  weather  for  the 
last  few  days,  have  we  not  ? "  said  Mrs.  Van  Holt, 
sweetly. 


The  Spanish  Galleon 


THE   SPANISH   GALLEON 

TEN  fathoms  down  in  the  placid  sea, 
Where  the  world  is  dark  and  cold, 
With  gaping  seams,  and  whitened  bones, 
And  a  treasure  in  her  hold. 

Buried  far  in  eternal  night, 

And  the  silence  of  the  grave,  — 
A  fitting  sepulchre,  indeed, 

For  the  death-sleep  of  the  brave. 

Over  her  grave  the  deep-sea  fronds, 

With  their  incantations  strange ; 
Above,  the  chafe  of  the  weary  sea, 

And  the  billow's  boundless  range. 

In  coral  and  sand,  a  world  of  green, 

Where  the  weird  sea-creatures  dwell, 
With  moss-grown  beams,  and  skeleton  frame, 

She  sleeps  her  long  sleep  well. 

In  a  dream,  methinks,  I  see  her  now, 

As  she  seems  again  to  rise ; 
Standing  again  on  the  homeward  course 

With  masts  that  bar  the  skies. 

Laden  with  gold,  on  the  Spanish  main, 

The  New  World  sinks  astern  ; 
And  naught  but  the  sky,  and  the  clouds,  and  the  waves, 

Can  the  weary  eye  discern. 
7 


The  Spanish  Galleon 

Oh,  a  summer  night  on  the  sleeping  sea, 
With  the  Southern  Cross  on  high ; 

The  moon-lit  waves,  the  salt,  salt  air, 
And  the  gleam  of  the  tropic  sky. 

And  away  with  the  wind  and  the  hissing  spray, 
For  the  vineyards  of  sunny  Spain, 

With  the  sky  for  a  sea,  and  never  a  thought 
For  the  shadow  of  woe  or  pain. 

In  a  moment  came  the  blinding  storm, 

And  the  heavens  cleft  in  twain ; 
The  rattling  thunder,  the  black,  black  sea, 

And  —  farewell  to  the  Spanish  main  ! 

Down  through  the  shades  of  endless  night, 
With  her  dark-eyed,  swarthy  men ; 

Down  through  the  ocean's  awful  realms, 
Ah,  never  to  rise  again  ! 

Far  down  the  grand  old  galleon  lies, 

In  the  sand  her  buried  head ; 
To  sleep  and  sleep,  through  the  fading  years, 

Till  the  sea  gives  up  its  dead. 


The  Freckleless  Village 


THE   FRECKLELESS  VILLAGE 

SLICE  off  the  tops  of  the  High  Alps  at  an  altitude 
of  four  thousand  two  hundred  and  sixty-nine 
and  five-tenths  feet.  On  this  horizontal  section 
draw  lines  connecting  the  Uertsch  with  the  Ketsch, 
the  Lenard  with  the  Roseg.  Project  these  lines 
until  they  meet  and  you  have  to  an  inch  the  location 
of  the  Freckleless  Village. 

Deep  within  the  forest  cantons,  hidden  in  the  ramifi- 
cations of  mountain-ranges,  it  lies  like  an  oasis  of  life 
in  the  wilderness  of  rocks,  gorges,  and  glaciers.  No 
binoculared  Englishman  or  bejewelled  pork-packer  of 
Chicago  ever  happened  within  ten  pipes  of  it.  And 
for  good  reason  :  no  one  was  ever  fool  enough  to 
tunnel  the  encircling  pinnacles;  a  tramway  in  that 
region  would  go  straightway  into  the  hands  of  a  re- 
ceiver, and  no  trolley  or  cable  system  was  ever  con- 
trived which  could  climb  the  nine  loops  of  the  zigzag 
road  that  leads  up  from  the  valley. 

Larch  forests  grow  about  and  hide  it;  a  cataract 
throws  over  it  spray  impalpable  as  cosmic  dust ;  the 
ice-field,  like  a  vast  cetacean,  hems  it  in  on  one  side, 
and  guards  it  even  at  midnight,  crawling  along  with 
horrid  crackings.  Like  a  mysterious  city  of  a  strange 
people  it  stands,  hushed  by  the  profound  silence  and 
solemn  hush  of  the  Alps,  enchanted  by  the  ever- 
lasting slumber  of  pine  and  granite. 

But  was  it  always  freckleless  ?  Far  from  that : 
the  most  natural  result  of  its  location  was  that 


The  Freckleless  Village 

its  inhabitants  should  be  generously  befreckled. 
The  shepherds  on  the  high  pastures  exposed  to  the 
elements ;  the  mowers  who  seek  tufted  grass  on 
narrow  ledges  and  face  the  blistering  reflection  of 
the  ice-fields;  the  village  girls,  upon  whose  pretty 
faces  snow-clad  Madlein  breathes  his  chill  winds  as 
they  milk  their  goats,  —  how  could  even  the  dimples 
of  these  escape  being  hidden  in  freckles,  especially 
when  the  sunsets  there  are  observed  to  assume  a 
coppery  hue  ?  Everybody  inhere, }  from  the  patriarch 
down  to  the  youngest  baby,  had  freckles.  Cembrosca, 
the  famous  hunter,  looked  like  an  Indian,  his  freckles 
were  so  merged  together.  As  we  look  for  the  baby's 
first  tooth,  with  the  same  assiduity  and  solicitude  did 
these  villagers  look  for  the  first  freckle.  But  not 
to  encourage  and  foster  it,  for  they  were  exceedingly 
ashamed  of  these  blemishes,  and  blushed  to  be  called 
the  Freckled  Village.  They  even  waited  in  daily 
trepidation  lest  the  Emperor  William  of  Germany 
should  visit  them  unawares  and  expose  their  peculiar- 
ity to  the  world. 

Clarinda,  the  daughter  of  Neyer,  the  burgomaster, 
the  politic,  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  all  the  village,  and 
many  a  love-lorn  youth  languished  for  a  look  of  her 
brown  eye.  To  be  sure,  her  face  was  dusky  with 
freckles ;  but  as  this  was  no  peculiarity,  it  was  at  the 
same  time  no  derogation.  But  though  many  sought 
her  favor,  she  chose  none,  and  Aldebaran,  whom  she 
loved,  was  cold. 

She  was  of  a  marriageable  age,  and  as  it  is  the 
custom  there  to  make  matches  as  early  as  possible, 
her  father  one  day  said  to  her,  — 

"  Clarinda,  I  have  decided  that  you  shall  marry/' 
10 


The  Freckleless  Village 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  marry,  father,"  returned 
Clarinda. 

"  Hush,  impudence  !  "  growled  he.  "  Make  no 
objections.  I  have  concluded  that  Plazetto,  the 
baker's  son,  is  destined  to  become  famous.  You 
will  be  married  to  him  immediately  after  sheep- 
shearing  —  do  you  understand  ?  Immediately  after 
sheep-shearing." 

"  No,"  said  Clarinda.  "  I  don't  choose  to  marry 
Plazetto,  and  I  won't ; "  which,  since  she  did  n't 
love  him,  was  a  very  natural  and  justifiable  thing  to 
say. 

Then  the  politic  burgomaster  tried  to  wheedle  his 
daughter.  "  Why  don't  you  like  Plazetto  ?  "  he  asked 
with  a  forced  smile.  "  I  think  him  a  very  likely  youth. 
He  acts  in  a  soberer  fashion  and  seems  to  have  a  more 
profound  intellect  than  the  rest." 

"  No,"  repeated  Clarinda,  "  I  won't  marry  him. 
He  never  laughs.  He  never  dances  on  the  green  at 
parish  festivals.  On  wedding  days  he  wears  the  same 
glum  face,  and  stands  around  like  a  big  awkward 
booby.  Nobody  wants  to  be  chosen  by  him  at  the 
Festival  of  the  Shearing  and  called  his  jewel  and  his 
treasure.  He's  a  stupid  old  dunce.  I  don't  like 
him.  He  never  laughs." 

At  this  the  politic  burgomaster  lost  his  temper, 
stamped  with  rage,  and  cried :  "  Wicked,  undutiful 
girl,  you  shall  do  as  I  wish.  You  may  go  to  your 
room.  There  shall  be  nothing  but  skim  milk  and 
black  bread  for  you  till  you  consent." 

Clarinda  was  a  high-spirited  girl ;  so  she  turned 
up  her  bewitching,  befreckled  nose  and  tripped  out 
of  the  room. 

it 


The  Freckleless  Village 

The  truth  is  that  Plazetto  was  a  stupid  blockhead 
\who  never  entered  into  the  merriment.)  His  imper- 
turbability had  led  Clarinda's  father  to  the  wrong 
surmise  that  wise  thoughts  were  passing  in  his  head. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  false.  The  demand 
that  Clarinda  should  marry  him  was  quite  unreason- 
able ;  she  was  far  too  pretty. 

But  nothing  made  Neyer  so  combative  as  resistance. 
He  began  to  seek  a  subterfuge  by  which  he  could 
oblige  Clarinda  to  take  Plazetto  under  her  own 
conditions.  He  was  politic  even  in  his  anger.  If 
she  had  given  in,  he  would  perhaps  have  relented ; 
but  now  she  must  marry  him,  whether  or  no.  He 
would  show  her  parental  discipline.  Br-r-r ! 

u  So  he  never  laughs  !  "  mused  Neyer.  "  Never 
laugh  indeed !  Ur-r-r-r !  As  though  daughter  of 
mine  must  have  a  laughing  lover,  a  foolish,  gibbering 
idiot,  an  empty-headed,  mincing  nincompoop  !  The 
girl  does  n't  know  her  own  mind.  But  she  must 
take  Plazetto.  He  really  must  be  made  a  little  more 
gay.  He  is  too  sober;  no  girl  in  my  day  would 
take  such  a  fool.  How  —  how  can  we  make  the 
hound  laugh  ?  " 

The  burgomaster  scratched  his  head  in  perplexity. 
Then  he  rose,  went  to  the  table,  and  began  to  search 
the  columns  of  the  Berliner  Forschungszeltung.  All 
of  a  sudden  he  skipped  for  joy,  and  could  scarcely 
contain  himself  while  he  wrote  a  letter  and  addressed 
it  to  Berlin. 

But  Clarinda?  She  obeyed  neither  the  first  nor 
the  last  of  her  father's  commands.  She  had  slipped 
out  into  the  little  garden  where  the  air  was  fragrant 
with  almond  and  cherry  trees  in  bloom,  and  where 

12 


The  Freckleless  Village 

a  hedge,  the  height  of  her  freckled  chin,  grew  round- 
about. She  picked  an  azalea  of  vivid  carmine  and, 
putting  it  in  her  black  hair,  looked  in  the  placid  brook 
to  note  the  effect. 

"  Hateful  freckles,"  she  said ;  and  after  a  pause, 
broke  out  with  :  "  I  won't  marry  him  —  I  won't,  I 
won't.  He  's  too  morose.  I  love  only  Aldebaran, 
and  he  —  ignores  me.  He  has  been  terribly  busy 
about  some  mysterious  business  all  the  year.  I  wish 
he  would  look  at  me  just  once.  Perhaps  I  Jm  too 
freckled." 

Just  then  she  heard  somebody  going  by  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge,  talking  the  while  in  an 
undertone.  She  listened. 

"  Yes,  it  must  be  kept  secret  for  a  while  —  the 
compound.  A  little  glacier-wine,  two  parts  of  goat's 
milk  unskimmed,  and  carefully  add  —  Ah,  stop  ! 
Do  not  utter  it.  The  hedges  have  ears.  It  must 
be  kept  secret.  When  the  Imperial  Freckle  Eradica- 
tor  is  perfected  and  my  native  village  is  delivered 
from  the  curse  of  freckles,  then  every  one  shall 
become  fair-skinned,  there  will  be  great  fame  and 
large  royalties  awaiting  me,  and  then  —  oh,  happy 
day  —  I  shall  be  no  longer  a  pauper,  but  a  millionaire ; 
no  longer  a  prophet  without  honor  in  his  own  country, 
but  hailed  as  the  man  of  the  hour  and  the  generation ; 
no  longer  fearful  of  her  father,  the  politic  burgomas- 
ter, but  welcomed  with  open  arms  as  worthy  of  the 
hand  of  Clarinda." 

When  Clarinda  ran  and  peeped  over  the  hedge,  he 
had  passed,  and  she  could  see  only  the  ragged  sleeves 
of  his  waistcoat,  his  bahered  straw  hat,  and  a  big  pail 
which  he  carried  under  his  arm.  It  was  Aldebaran. 

'3 


The  Freckleless  Village 

She  clasped  her  hands  ecstatically.  "  So  he  loves 
me,  after  all,"  she  whispered.  "  He  loves  me,  after 
all.  And  I  shall  love  him  always,  even  if  he  were  a 
pauper  all  his  life." 

She  took  the  azalea  from  her  hair  and  tossed  it 
after  him.  He  started,  seeing  it  fall,  then  stooped 
and  picked  it  up.  No  one  else  was  near ;  so  Clarinda, 
peering  through  the  hedge,  saw  him  press  it  to  his 
lips  and  put  it  inside  his  jerkin. 

"  I  won't  marry  Plazetto,"  she  repeated,  as  she 
looked  again  into  the  brook  and  went  into  the  house. 

•  •  •  •  4  •  •  • 

Some  days  later  a  strange  mule-train  was  seen 
winding  up  the  nine-looped  zigzag  road.  When  it 
had  mounted  as  far  as  the  village,  it  stopped  in  front 
of  the  white  chapel.  There  were  ten  mules  in  all, 
on  the  back  of  each  a  pannier  containing  two  sacks. 
These  sacks  were  labelled,  in  large  yellow  letters, 

MUSTARD    SEED. 

The  conductor  of  this  pack  train  was  an  eccentric- 
looking  individual.  He  wore  a  burly  coat  of  bear's 
fur  and  a  tall  Robinson  Crusoe  hat  of  the  same 
shaggy  material.  Blue  goggles  hid  his  eyes  from  the 
glare  of  the  sun,  and  clouds  of  smoke,  which  he 
drew  from  a  capacious  German  pipe,  circled  in  azure 
wreaths  about  his  head. 

But,  well  prepared  as  he  was  for  this  altitude,  he 
was  much  impeded  by  the  paraphernalia  which  he 
carried  about  him.  There  were  thermometers  stick- 
ing out  of  his  fur  cap  like  quills  on  a  porcupine  ; 
thermometers  in  the  belt  of  his  greatcoat,  a  fringe  of 
them  sticking  out  of  the  tops  of  his  gaiters  and  several 
under  each  arm.  On  one  side  he  had  slung  a 

14 


The  Freckleless  Village 

hydrometer,  on  the  other  a  pedometer.  On  his 
back  were  appliances  for  measuring  heights  of  moun- 
tains and  depths  of  crevasses.  From  all  parts  of  his 
person  dangled  microscopes,  hammers,  pincers, 
phials,  plummets,  and  a  string  of  labelled  notebooks, 
like  festoons  of  popcorn  from  a  Christmas  tree.  In 
the  notebooks  he  entered  the  readings  of  his  instru- 
ments after  every  fifty  yards  of  advance,  being  much 
harassed  in  managing  the  unruly  mules  and  the 
cumbrous  machinery  of  his  outfit.  When  he  halted 
in  front  of  the  chapel,  he  muttered,  — 

"  What  a  country  !  pinnacles  !  spires  !  needles 
that  pierce  the  heavens  !  and  a  fool's  errand  !  1  am 
exhausted  —  pedometer,  ten  leagues  —  barometer, 
four  thousand  two  hundred  sixty-nine  and  five-tenths 
feet  —  thermometer,  sixty  degrees,  br-r-r  !  cold  — coat, 
fifteen  pounds,  a  load." 

Although  the  warm  odor  of  growing  orchids  was 
in  the  air,  he  muffled  himself  closer,  as  if  afraid  of  the 
influenza,  looked  awhile  at  the  glacier,  and  proceeded 
to  tie  his  mules  in  front  of  the  chalet  of  Neyer,  the 
politic  burgomaster.  Having  done  so,  he  knocked, 
and  with  a  jingling  of  dangling  thermometers  and 
plummets,  entered. 

u  So  you  have  come,"  said  Neyer,  when  they  were 
closeted.  "  Are  you  prepared  to  make  him  laugh  ?  " 

u  Yes,"  returned  the  savant.  "  I  will  warrant 
the  article  as  strong  as  that  used  by  any  Berlin 
dentist.  I  have  the  material  in  enormous  quantities." 

"  Good  !  "  ejaculated  the  burgomaster,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "And  now  explain  how  you  intend  to  go 
about  it." 

"  This  gas,"  continued  the  savant^  "  under  normal 


The  Freckleless  Village 

temperatures  is  lighter  than  air,  but  only  perceptibly 
so.  But  if  I  establish  myself  on  the  glacier  and  cool 
the  gas,  as  it  is  generated,  by  contact  with  the  ice, 
the  density  will  be  lowered  and  it  will  flow  gradually 
down,  filtering  through  the  atmosphere,  seeking  the 
level  of  its  specific  gravity.  The  glacier,  as  you  are 
aware,  lies  in  the  bed  of  a  V-shaped  gorge,  and  the 
village  is  close  by.  Thus  the  gaseous  stream  will  be 
kept  within  narrow  bounds  as  by  a  funnel,  and  upon 
reaching  this  point  will  spread  undiluted  over  the 
entire  village." 

u  Marvellous,"  exclaimed  Neyer.  "  The  shep- 
herds, the  armaillis,  have  come  down  from  the  upper 
pastures  with  their  sheep,  and  the  shearing  is  nearly 
done.  To-morrow  noon  the  Festival  of  Shearing  will 
begin.  The  lads  will  wear  their  smart  gaiters  and 
doublets,  after  the  fashion  of  William  Tell.  The 
girls  will  put  on  holiday  dresses  with  peaked  caps, 
and  the  petra,  the  heart-shaped  leather  cuirass  em- 
broidered with  blue  and  gold.  They  will  join  in  a 
dance  on  the  green,  after  which  each  youth  will  take 
a  flower  and  present  it  to  the  girl  whom  he  desires  to 
call  his  jewel  and  hfs  treasure.  It  is  on  this  occasion 
that  I  wish  this  lad  Plazetto  to  assume  a  more  light- 
hearted  mien.  But  go  easily.  Make  the  gas  only 
strong  enough  to  cause  a  moderate  mirth.  I  wish 
nothing  to  be  apparent." 

"  It  shall  be  accomplished,"  said  the  savant 
"  And  be  so  good  as  to  accept  this  present  of  two 
flagons  of  wine,"  continued  the  burgomaster.  "Do 
not  drink  any  of  it  until  your  task  is  done,  lest 
the  fumes  mount  to  your  head  and  destroy  your 
judgment." 

16 


The  Freckleless  Village 

«  Never  fear,"  said  the  other,  seizing  the  flagons 
with  avidity,  examining  the  labels  and  sniffing  at  the 
corks. 

Next  morning  there  was  discernible,  some  distance 
above  the  village  on  the  breast  of  the  glacier,  a 
small,  square  shack,  from  the  nearer  side  of  which 
stuck  out  a  big  horn  with  a  belled  mouth. 

u  What  fool  has  ventured  on  the  glacier  ?  "  growled 
Froben,  the  printer,  gazing  with  the  crowd. 

"It  must  be  he  who  came  yesterday  with  the 
mule-train,"  ventured  the  politic  burgomaster.  "  I 
wonder  what  he  is  up  to  ?  " 

"  He  is  preparing  to  send  us  dance  music  through 
his  horn  for  our  festival,"  said  Amerbach,  the  mower, 
who  had  once  heard  a  phonograph. 

"No,"  said  Schneiger,  the  goldsmith,  who  knew 
nothing  about  it,  but  had  an  old-fashioned  funnel- 
mouthed  blunderbuss  at  home.  "  He  is  preparing  to 
shoot  grenades  over  the  mountains  against  the  French." 

Then  all  turned  to  the  reverend  cure,  perceiving 
he  was  about  to  speak.  "  The  cure  will  tell  us," 
they  cried ;  "  our  cure  knows.  He  has  seen  the 
world.  He  has  been  to  Paris." 

"  Yes,  my  children,"  responded  the  cure.  "  I 
expected  you  would  turn  to  me.  No  one  is  better 
fitted  to  deliver  an  opinion,  for  I,  as  you  say,  have 
been  to  Paris.  Now,  if  you  had  marked,  as  I  did, 
that  the  mules  carried  bags  labelled  MUSTARD  SEED, 
you  would  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  he  is 
preparing  to  remove  mountains.  He  that  hath  faith 
even  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed,"  said  the  cure  in  a 
prophetic  manner,  "  shall  remove  mountains." 

The  fallacy  of  which  reasoning  not  being  perceived, 


The  Freckleless  Village 

a  long  and  weighty  silence  met  the  fearful  assevera- 
tion, and  the  timorous  drew  deep  breaths. 

"  Which  peak  will  he  take  first  ? "  asked  Amer- 
bach,  the  mower. 

«  Will  it  be  Piz  Zupo  ?  "  asked  one. 

"  Will  it  be  Piz  Corvatsch  ?  "  asked  another. 

"  Will  it  be  Piz  Rosatsch  ? "  asked  a  third. 

u  Will  our  village  go  too  ?  "  asked  a  fourth. 

"Can't  we  prevent  it?"  asked  several  all  at 
once. 

Never,  the  crafty,  the  politic,  stuffed  his  handker- 
chief in  his  mouth  as  he  listened  to  these  questions. 
But  when  the  last  was  asked  he  perceived  things 
were  taking  the  wrong  turn,  and  said  in  grave  tones  : 

"Fellow-villagers,  even  if  it  is  the  will  of  the 
Almighty  that  we,  with  the  heavens,  be  shrivelled 
like  a  burning  scroll,  we  can  do  no  better  than  to 
meet  the  end,  pursuing  our  accustomed  occupations." 

So  it  was  decided  that  the  festival  should  suffer  no 
interruption. 

At  noon  all  the  lads  and  maidens  gathered  on  the 
village  green.  Clarinda  was  there,  looking  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  Plazetto  was  there ;  but  he  only 
stood  apart,  leaning  up  against  a  tree,  silent  and 
glum.  Neyer  was  there  with  the  other  burgomasters, 
Froben  with  his  printer's  devils,  Schneiger  with  his 
apprentices,  Amerbach  with  his  mowers,  Lugano  and 
the  goatherds,  Samader  the  president  of  the  syndic, 
and  Julier  the  secretary  of  the  commune.  But  all 
were  oppressed  by  an  unnatural  silence.  Was  the 
earth  really  coming  to  an  end  ? 

Then  a  cool,  sweet-smelling  wind  that  could 
hardly  be  felt,  began  to  blow  down  from  the  glacier. 

18 


The  Freckleless  Village 

A  smile  crept  over  the  solemn  face  of  the  cure. 
He  took  deep  whiffs  of  the  breeze.  Then  he  began 
to  laugh  uproariously.  He  seized  Clarinda  about 
the  waist,  and  whirled  round  and  round  with  her 
across  the  green.  At  first  the  rest  were  shocked  at 
such  levity  on  the  part  of  their  dominie ;  then  they 
also  were  taken  with  the  same  fit  of  mirth.  They 
first  began  laughing  and  pointing  at  each  other  like 
mad  people,  and,  as  if  moved  by  a  joint  impulse, 
seized  partners  and  whirled  after  the  cure,  who  was 
still  capering  like  a  lamb.  Shepherds,  mowers, 
milkers,  burgomasters,  no  matter  how  gouty  or 
rheumatic,  all  mixed  like  children  in  the  dance, 
laughing  as  though  they  would  split. 

Neyer,  the  burgomaster,  was  left  alone.  Looking 
about  him  in  amazement,  he  saw  Plazetto,  perched 
high  up  in  the  crotch  of  a  tree,  weeping  with  his 
face  in  his  hands,  as  though  his  heart  were  broken. 

"  Come  down,  Plazetto,  come  down,"  cried  Neyer; 
and  then  the  merry  paroxysm  seized  him,  and  he  too 
began  to  caper. 

Now  the  sheep,  which  had  been  grazing  quietly 
at  the  farther  corner  of  the  green,  a  flock  of  a  thou- 
sand or  more,  commenced  to  roll  and  tumble  about 
and  utter  funny  bleatings,  like  giddy  and  foolish 
lambs.  Then,  instead  of  running  about  in  a  circle, 
they  all  broke  away  across  the  glacier  where  they 
were  dashed  to  pieces  in  a  crevasse  three  hundred 
and  forty-four  feet  deep. 

No  one  knows  how  long  this  whirl  would  have 
continued,  had  not  the  unforeseen  happened.  A 
gigantic  booming  rent  the  air.  The  glacier  split  in 
two,  and  a  yawning  black  cavern  appeared  under  the 

19 


The  Freckleless  Village 

hut  of  the  savant.  Hut  and  mules  all  disappeared 
into  the  horrible  abyss,  and  the  divided  ice-field,  like 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  closed  together  with  a  pon- 
derous clashing  and  splintering. 

The  cool  sweet  wind  ceased  to  blow,  the  up- 
roar stopped,  the  crowd  by  degrees  became  quiet, 

—  a     great     stillness    ensued.     The     cure    released 
Clarinda ;  the  mowers  and  milkers,  the  ancient  gold- 
smith, the  venerable  president  of  the  syndic   stood 
shamefaced  and  out  of  breath,  and  nobody  dared  utter 
the  first  syllable. 

Then  some  one  cried :  "  Look !  Here  comes 
somebody  down  the  glacier." 

A  solitary  figure  came  rapidly  toward  the  village, 
leaping  from  hummock  to  hummock,  and  when  near 
was  seen  to  be  Aldebaran.  He  was  waving  two 
flagons  at  arms'  length. 

u  Where  did  you  get  these  flagons  ? "  asked 
Neyer,  as  Aldebaran  came  up. 

"  They  are  all  that  is  left  of  the  stranger's  hut," 
answered  Aldebaran.  "  I  found  them  on  the  ice, 
empty." 

u  Ah,"  hissed  the  burgomaster  through  his  clenched 
teeth.  "He  got  drunk  and  overdid  it.  The  villain 

—  he  deserved  his  fate." 

"  Wine  is  a  mocker,"  observed  the  cure. 

Then  they  told  Aldebaran  of  the  unaccountable 
pranks  they  had  all  played  and  of  the  loss  of  the 
sheep. 

u  Do  not  lament  this  loss,  fellow-villagers,"  said 
Aldebaran,  in  a  reassuring  voice  and  manner.  "  Let 
me  relate  my  experience.  For  a  long  time  I  have 
yearned  to  deliver  my  native  village  from  the  bane 

20  • 


The  Freckleless  Village 

of  freckles.  My  discovery  was  almost  complete.  I 
wished  to  test  it  upon  myself,  and  for  the  last  month 
have  been  living  on  the  heights,  exposed  to  the  sun 
and  all  the  winds.  The  compound  has  stood  even 
this  crucial  test.  Behold  me!  There  is  not  a 
freckle  on  my  face." 

Wild  cheers  greeted  this  declaration,  for  his  com- 
plexion, formerly  so  mottled,  now  so  brilliant,  made 
it  evident  he  spoke  the  truth. 

He  continued :  "  Do  not  lament  the  loss  of  your 
sheep.  Let  another  industry  spring  up  among  you. 
My  cure  for  freckles  is  infallible.  Let  us  all  unite 
in  its  manufacture.  Its  revenue  will  exceed  that  of 
sheep-shearing  a  thousand-fold.  We  will  use  the 
cosmetic  ourselves,  sell  it  wholesale  to  the  world, 
and  besides  becoming  fabulously  rich,  will  be  in  a 
short  time  renowned  as  the  Freckleless  Village." 

Wilder  cheers  ensued.  Then  Neyer,  the  burgo- 
master, the  ever-politic,  the  crafty,  who  already 
imagined  Aldebaran  in  princely  attire  and  vested 
with  supreme  honors,  changed  his  mind. 

u  Villagers,"  he  cried,  "  rejoice  with  me  that  the 
sheep  are  lost.  I  had  vowed  that  my  daughter  should 
marry  Plazetto  as  soon  as  shearing  is  done.  Now 
that  there  are  no  sheep,  the  shearing  cannot  be  com- 
pleted, and  I  am  hence  clearly  absolved  from  my 
vow.  I  hereby  give  Clarinda  to  our  deliverer,  Al- 
debaran, if  he  will  deign  to  accept  her." 

At  these  words  everybody  uttered  a  wild  huzza, 
for  the  denouement  was  pleasing.  Clarinda  kissed 
her  politic  father  and  ran  to  Aldebaran,  who  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  regardless  of  ragged  elbows  and 
patched  coat. 

21 


The  Freckleless  Village 

Then,  as  the  festival  continued  with  a  less  riotous 
course,  Clarinda  and  Aldebaran  left  the  crowd  and 
walked  together  through  the  larch  forest  that  bordered 
the  glacier,  and  wandered  hand  in  hand  through  a 
field  of  rhododendrons.  Far  above  the  village,  their 
feet  caressed  by  gentian  and  delicate  edelweiss,  their 
thoughts  with  the  stars,  they  sat  down  on  a  great 
rock. 

Now  the  sunset  came,  the  rose  color  of  the  glacier 
faded,  the  colored  light  on  the  rocks  died.  Imper- 
ceptibly a  veil  of  shadows  succeeded,  the  moon  cast 
a  ghostly  blue  over  far-glittering  ice-fields,  and  like 
dream  spirits  their  souls  flitted  over  the  valley  below 
to  the  dim  chaos  of  snow-capped  summits  on  the 
horizon.  "  Like  a  sifted  shower  of  black  snow,  a 
snow  made  of  shadow,  the  night  fell,  and  the  melan- 
choly of  the  mountain  wilderness,  the  grand  nocturnal 
solitude  of  the  lofty  regions  cast  over  them  its  charm, 
profound  and  disquieting." 

Then  the  owl  came  hooting  out  of  his  hollow  tree, 
and  Aldebaran,  the  mystic  influence  of  love  upon 
him,  sent  the  well-remembered  note  with  intensified 
meaning  across  the  deep  abysm, — 

"  Liauba,  liauba,  po-aria" 

The  heart-rending,  melancholy  yodel  lingered  in 
the  air,  catching  new  glamour  from  echo  to  echo, 
until  it  expired  like  a  lament ;  and  when  the  last  ves- 
tige of  sound  was  lost  like  a  breath  in  the  infinite 
depths  of  the  valley,  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder, 
her  cheek  was  moist  against  his,  and  she  breathed  a 
little  sigh  that  was  sweet  music  to  him. 


22 


Good  Jacobites  All 


GOOD   JACOBITES  ALL 

NOW  to  all  goodly  gentlemen, 
Bide  they  in  East  or  West, 
Be  greeting  at  this  holy  time,  . 
When  swords  find  sheathed  rest. 
And  we  will  pledge  the  King  and  Cause 
Without  demur  or  parley, 
And  we  will  wear  on  loyal  breasts 
The  white  rose  of  Prince  Charlie. 

The  rebel  hordes  their  worst  have  done, 

God  sends  the  varlets  down  ! 

Our  King  his  triumph  may  not  keep 

In  fickle  London  town. 

But  fair  as  e'er  it  grew  of  old 

In  gardens  green  at  Farley, 

We  '11  wear  to-day  the  Holy  Rose, 

The  white  rose  of  Prince  Charlie. 

We  've  yet  to  pay  for  all  the  blood 
That  Naseby  drank  that  day ; 
And  there  's  a  debt  of  honor  which, 
As  God  lives,  we  shall  pay  ! 
By  right  and  might  we  '11  sweep  their  ranks 
As  harvesters  the  barley, 
Tho'  loyal  blood  shall  dye  to  red 
The  white  rose  of  Prince  Charlie. 
23 


Good  Jacobites  All 

The  King  shall  come  into  his  own, 

Reign  where  his  father  reigned ; 

And  Church  and  State  united  sway 

The  Kingdom  new  regained. 

So  here 's  to  King  !     And  here 's  to  Cause  ! 

Down  on  all  weakling  parley  ! 

And  here's  the  white  rose  proudly  won, 

The  white  rose  of  Prince  Charlie  ! 

St.  Charles'  Day,  January  30. 


24 


No  Robbery 


NO  ROBBERY 

SHE    AND    HER    ROOM-MATE 

"ERCY,  child,  hurry  and  find  some  hairpins 
for  me  !  And  here  's  a  telegram  to  read 
while  I  'fix  —  Why  will  you  buy  those  vicious  straight 
wire  ones  that  slip  ?  I  rather  think  he  exaggerates 
the  c  whither  thou  goest  I  will  go '  effect.  c  Nothing 
could  detain  me  upon  receiving  note.'  H'm  —  I  be- 
lieve we  will  see  Cambridge  together  in  June.  Well, 
I  only  know  this  one  Harvard  man,  and  I  've  met 
him  four  —  five  —  six  times,  but  there  's  to-morrow 
afternoon,  and  Tuesday  if  I  cut  that  Elizabethan  Lit. 
Do  you  want  to  bet  on  my  whereabouts  for  next 
Class-day  ?  Is  my  hair  smooth  now  —  and  the  rest  of 
my  raiment  ?  Please  look  at  me  before  you  say  I  'm 
all  right." 

HE    AND   SHE 

"And  that's  why  things  can  never  be  the  same 
between  us  any  more.  Did  n't  you  ever  feel  that  a 
certain  day  or  a  certain  hour  had  made  all  the  past 
useless  and  colorless,  and  the  present  and  perhaps  the 
future  contained  everything  worth  living  for?  Don't 
you  think  it  a  bit  unkind  to  spoil  a  man's  past  so  ?  " 

"  Heavens  !  Have  you  a  past  ?  Is  it  quite  dis- 
creet of  me  to  have  anything  to  do  with  it  ? " 

"  Quite.  But  if  my  future  never  turns  out  a  past 
you  'd  like  to  have  anything  to  do  with,  it 's  going  to 

25 


No  Robbery 

be  your  own  fault.  And  I  don't  think  you  care 
that !  "  (He  gazes  ardently  at  the  insane  asylum 
in  the  distance.) 

"  Not  a  snap  of  my  finger  ?  Perhaps  I  care  a 
little  more  than  that,  Billy,  and  perhaps  even  more 
than  you  think  —  " 

HE   SOLUS LATER   A  BELL-BOY 

"William,  shake  hands  with  yourself.  It's  a  very 
dirty  ride  from  Boston,  William,  that 's  true.  But, 
William,  we  will  go  to  the  Junior  Prom.,  where  we 
shall  see  another  lady  who  is  quite  worth  all  the 
trouble.  Very  creditably  planned  and  executed, 
William.  We  congratulate  ourself  and  drink  to  — 
Oh,  is  that  you,  Sam  ?  If  you  '11  bring  four  more 
of  the  same  and  set  them  on  the  bureau,  I  won't 
worry  you  any  more  to-night." 


26 


Master  Frar^ois  Sings 


MASTER  FRANCOIS   SINGS 

A  GIRL  on  my  knee,  a  glass  at  my  side, 
A  lute  to  strum  and  a  horse  to  ride, 
What  can  a  man  want  more  ? 
To  lounge  in  the  warm  sun  all  day  long, 
With  jest  and  kiss  and  snatch  of  a  song, 
To  squander  Youth's  sweet  store  ! 

Oh  !  that  is  the  life  that  seems  best  to  me  5 
Let  Fortune  frown,  but  a  shrew  is  she, 

And  life  a  dream  that  flies. 
But  ho  !  for  the  reign  of  the  Provence  rose, 
And  court-yards  drifted  with  almond  snows, 

And  Fleurette's  laughing  eyes. 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 


A  RAGAMUFFIN  SANTA  CLAUS 

THE  Yale  fullback  of  '94,  and  now  a  successful 
sheep-raiser,  seared  and  hardened  by  four  years 
of  experience,  was  coming  East  on  the  Lake  Shore 
Limited.  u  878,"  with  its  supple  line  of  six  Wag- 
ners, the  plate  windows  and  the  brass  glistening  in 
the  sun,  was  humming  down  from  Albany,  never 
stopping  and  only  letting  down  its  fifty-two-mile  gait 
for  the  draws  and  the  long  quarter-mile  stretches  of 
the  water-troughs,  heaving  heavily  around  the  curves, 
and  with  added  momentum  gliding  down  the  straight- 
aways. Brink,  the  aforementioned  fullback,  was  sit- 
ting on  a  camp-stool  out  on  the  observation  platform 
of  the  rear  car,  watching  the  rails  glide  from  under 
him,  and  then  gradually  slow  down  in  the  distance 
until  they  met.  It  seemed  as  if  things  were  slipping 
away  from  him  in  just  this  way,  and  the  phrase  struck 
him  as  rather  symbolic  of  his  present  state,  and  kept 
ringing  in  his  head  back  where  the  brain  and  the  ears 
meet.  The  first  pages  of  his  real  life  had  slipped 
away,  and  what  had  he  gained  ?  Gold  that  could  be 
reckoned  in  four  figures,  and  experience,  and  to  set 
over  against  this,  four  prime  years  of  manhood  lived 
in  that  part  of  our  land  which  lies  between  our  two 
civilizations,  —  and  another  loss,  that  of  a  friendship 
that  could  not  be  reckoned  in  four  figures,  nor  four 
times  four.  He  shook  off  the  recollection  with  a 
start  and  lighted  a  cigar.  The  train  had  rushed  by 

28 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

the  local,  side-tracked  at  Poughkeepsie,  and  then  on 
down  into  the  gloom  of  the  Highlands.  Twilight 
had  fallen;  from  within  the  car  the  glare  from  the 
electrics  called  to  him  cheerfully,  invitingly,  and  he 
answered  and  stepped  inside  the  big  glass  door. 

As  he  did  so,  the  "  Lake  Shore  "  calendar  over  the 
stenographer's  desk  caught  his  eye,  and  it  suddenly 
dawned  upon  him  that  it  was  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas. In  the  rush  of  flying  across  a  continent,  he 
had  lost  track  of  time.  Travelling  fast  and  continu- 
ously seems  to  make  a  cipher  of  it  anyhow.  He 
settled  himself  down  into  one  of  the  big  chairs,  and 
let  his  thoughts  travel  back  along  the  track  he  had 
come  for  upwards  of  two  thousand  miles.  Then, 
after  going  over  all  he  had  done  out  West,  the  hard- 
ships and  dangers  where  a  man  stands  face  to  face 
with  the  God  who  made  him,  he  naturally  thought  of 
the  days  before  he  had  gone.  You  never  strike  the 
same  mood  anywhere  else,  as  thrills  your  whole  being 
when  you  look  out  of  a  car  window  into  the  blackness 
of  night  and  see  the  lights  go  hurrying  past,  some  big 
blotches,  others  little  points,  like  the  thoughts  that 
rush  through  your  brain.  Those  days  were  to  Brink 
almost  part  of  another  existence.  The  recollection 
of  them  all  and  of  Her  seemed  a  far-away  memory, 
almost  an  illusive  one,  —  something  which  he  had 
lived  through  once  a  long  while  ago,  but  whether  in 
this  life  or  in  another  world  he  could  hardly  have 
told.  What  had  become  of  her  since  he  had  gone 
West,  he  did  not  know ;  even  as  to  whether  she  was 
married  or  not  he  was  uncertain.  He  had  lost  all 
trace  of  her,  and  a  pang  shot  through  him  when  he 
remembered  it  was  more  or  less  his  fault.  If  he  had 

29 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

only  written  to  her  as  he  ought  to  have  done,  there 
would  be  a  pair  of  eyes  with  a  light  in  them  to  wel- 
come him. 

It  is  more  or  less  a  mocking  of  fate — and  princi- 
pally more  —  to  spend  Christmas  alone.  This  is 
in  accordance  with  a  man's  idea  of  what  the  day 
ought  to  be.  So  with  Brink.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  went  in  for  ideals,  and  the  indulgence  of  this 
particular  kind  of  castle-building  meant  more  to  him 
than  to  most  of  us.  So  the  idea  of  spending  the  day 
alone  at  his  hotel  or  at  a  club  came  hard  to  him. 
His  father  and  mother  had  died  just  before  he  went 
West,  but  he  knew  what  the  day  ought  to  be — what 
it  had  always  been  before  he  had  gone  —  and  the 
thought  of  his  loneliness  struck  across  his  heart  and 
staggered  him  as  never  before.  He  had  lived  days 
together  alone  in  the  glorious  boundlessness  of  the 
plains,  and  had  slept  of  nights  up  in  the  hills,  looking 
up  in  his  waking  moments  at  the  infinite  distances  of 
the  stars,  and  in  all  that  had  never  felt  himself  weighted 
down  by  a  sense  of  loneliness.  But  here,  with  men 
about  him,  rushing  along  at  the  speed  of  fifty-two 
miles  an  hour,  and  the  lights  of  civilization  flying  by, 
he  felt  and  knew  himself  to  be  alone.  The  station 
at  Yonkers  catching  his  eye,  broke  his  day-dreaming, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  the  sharp  swing  of  the  train 
told  him  they  had  turned  off  into  the  cut.  It  struck 
him  as  peculiar  how  well  he  remembered  it  all,  —  and 
then,  that  there  was  no  one  to  remember  him. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  he  stood  outside  the  station 
on  42d  Street,  watching  the  underground  electrics 
glide  down  into  the  tunnel,  and  the  big  heavy  mail- 
wagons  roll  past  with  their  loads  for  the  Pan-American 

30 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

Limited.  His  ears  were  ringing  with  the  mighty 
hum  of  the  vast  city,  and  he  remembered  how  he  used 
to  stand  that  way  five,  six,  and  seven  years  ago.  Each 
time  he  came  home  from  college  it  thrilled  him  to 
feel  for  the  first  time  the  city's  thundering  pulsations. 
He  used  to  take  it  in  slowly,  for  he  needed  hours  to 
get  accustomed  to  it  after  the  quietness  of  his  college 
town.  Then  there  used  to  come  the  first  glimpse  of 
Broadway,  the  street  of  eternal  day  —  or  eternal  night 
— it  matters  not  which  you  call  it.  But  this  time  he 
did  n't  thrill  to  the  thousands  of  lives  around  him,  — 
he  did  n't  feel  himself  drawn  to  them  by  any  ties  in 
common;  he  felt  alone.  Usually  there  is  a  subtle 
something  in  the  air  at  Christmas  that  draws  people 
together.  There  's  a  peculiar  cheerfulness,  in  quality 
though  not  in  intensity,  to  the  glare  from  the  shop 
windows  as  it  strikes  across  the  snow,  and  even  the 
clang  of  the  Broadway  Cables  has  an  unaccustomed 
clearness.  But  it  all  worked  on  Brink  in  just  the 
opposite  way.  He  was  strolling  slowly  toward  Fifth 
Avenue  with  no  purpose  in  view,  and  was  absent- 
mindedly  fumbling  the  coins  in  his  pocket.  The 
noise  caught  the  quick  ear  of  a  newsboy,  and  in  a 
flash  of  rags  and  half-bare  legs  he  was  at  his  side. 

u  Have  a  paper,  Boss  ?  Sportin'  extra,"  and  then 
with  an  eye  to  business,  and  noting  the  out-of-town 
look  that  Brink  carried  with  him,  he  held  up  the 
tempting  headlines  of  the  "  World  "  and  "  Journal." 
«  Have  a  * Woild,'  Mister  ?  " 

Brink  looked  the  little  fellow  straight  between  the 
eyes,  and  got  back  the  steady  gaze  of  a  pair  that  was 
not  unlike  his  own.  Four  years  in  the  West  teach  a 
man  to  judge  others  at  sight,  and  Brink  could  read 

3' 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

two  eyes  almost  as  well  as  he  could  a  printed  page. 
This  time  he  looked  clear  through,  down  to  the 
depths  of  the  boy,  and  he  saw  something  there  that 
another  might  have  seen  in  him,  —  a  look  of  loneli- 
ness. The  kindred  of  these  two  conditions  suddenly 
suggested  a  plan  to  his  mind. 

"  Say,  young  fellow,  whatever  your  name  is,  how 
would  it  do  for  you  and  me  to  go  somewhere  and  get 
some  dinner?  I'm  all  alone  here  —  and  I  hope 
you  're  not,  but  perhaps  we  'd  be  company  for  each 
other  anyhow.  It  's  a  beastly  shame  for  any  one  to 
eat  his  dinner  alone  the  night  before  Christmas." 

The  boy's  eyes  opened  rather  wide,  and  he  crossed 
what  remained  of  his  left  shoe  over  his  right  as  he 
answered,  — 

"  What  sort  of  a  game  are  yer  givin'  us  ?  I 
ain't  quite  next." 

"  I  honestly  mean  it,"  Brink  answered,  with  a 
sincerity  that  went  right  to  the  boy's  heart.  Then 
he  added,  "  If  you  would  only  tell  me  your  name,  I 
think  we  could  get  along  better." 

"  I  go  by  der  name  o'  Kid  around  this  here  joint, 
but  me  name  is  Charlie  McGinnis." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  never  had  no  old  on's,  leastwise  since  I 
kin  remimber,  so  I  hang  out  at  t'irty-t'ree  East 
Houston.  Der  Gilroys  wot  lives  there  lets  me  sleep 
wid  dere  kids  if  I  turn  in  twenty-five  per,  if  I  don't 
I  sleeps  where  I  kin.  But  say,  Mister,  wot 's  yer 
name  ?  " 

u  My  name  is  Billy  Brink,  and  I  am  glad  to  meet 
you,  Mr.  McGinnis,"  Brink  answered.  He  was  deep 
in  the  spirit  of  the  thing  now,  and  in  the  doing  of 

32 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

a  kindness  toward  another  he  was  fast  forgetting  his 
own  loneliness. 

"  Now,  Kid,  we  are  going  to  have  dinner  some- 
where together,  just  you  and  I,  but  not  till  you  've 
had  some  new  clothes  and  a  mild  exterior  application 
of  water." 

While  he  was  talking  he  had  been  watching  the 
boy's  face.  The  eyes  from  their  normal  condition 
had  slowly  expanded  until  they  reached  their  limit, 
and  then  the  mouth  followed  after  them.  With  all 
wide  open,  he  asked  in  an  awed  sort  of  whisper,  — 

"  Say,  are  you  c  Biffy '  Brink,  de  fellar  wot  won 
der  game  for  de  Yales  four  years  ago,  when  dey  beat 
de  Princetons  six  ter  five  ?  " 

"  I  am  that  fellow,  but  I  don't  see  how  in  the 
world  you  know  anything  about  it,"  Brink  answered. 

"  Well,  say,  mebbe  I  don't  read  der  newspapers  ! 
I  've  been  in  dis  here  bizness  seven  years,  an'  I  kin 
give  yer  der  hull  ting  about  dem  cullige  joints.  But 
you  're  der  first  guy  I  ever  seen,  and  say,  you  're  der 
best  one  a-goin*.  Don't  I  remember  how  dey  had 
your  phiz  in  der  papers  de  day  you  done  dat  monkey- 
shine  ?  " 

Before  such  admiration  as  Brink  saw  on  the  face 
that  was  upturned  to  him  two  feet  below  his  shoulder, 
he  could  n't  say  very  much,  only  his  heart  thrilled 
through  to'  think  he  had  found  at  least  one  person 
somewhere  who  remembered,  some  link  between  the 
old  days  and  the  future.  Not  that  he  wanted  hero 
worship ;  he  had  become  sick  enough  of  that  the  last 
year  at  college.  But  he  wanted  some  one  who  could 
understand  him,  and  he  found  just  such  a  one  in  this 
kid.  It  is  good  for  a  man  once  in  a  while  to  look 
3  33 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

below  his  level  for  a  comrade,  especially  if  the  one  he 
finds  is  a  child. 

An  hour  later  a  tall,  well-built,  and  clean-limbed 
young  fellow  and  a  boy  of  twelve  who  had  been 
tubbed,  scrubbed,  and  dressed,  and  who  still  had  that 
same  pair  of  marvellous  eyes,  sat  in  a  quiet  corner  of 
the  Hotel  Imperial  Cafe.  With  the  soft  low  music 
which  floated  lazily  to  them  from  the  palm  room, 
making  familiar  the  unaccustomed  luxury  of  it  all, 
and  the  undertone  of  conversation  pervading  the 
whole  room,  Brink  sat  with  his  chin  in  his  hands, 
his  elbows  resting  on  the  high  arms  of  his  chair,  and 
dreamed  his  dreams.  There  was  a  time  when  he  had 
been  used  to  all  this,  when  it  had  been  part  of  his 
life.  The  crowds  of  people,  the  suppers,  and  the 
theatres  had  seemed  necessary  to  him.  If  he  thought 
of  the  subject  at  all,  it  was  that  he  should  never  get 
along  without  them.  But  life  out  West  alters  a 
man's  way  of  looking  at  things.  It  gives  him  eyes 
that  see  and  ears  that  hear,  and  Brink  thanked  God 
it  had  been  so  with  him.  It  seemed  good  that  he 
realized  all  this  superficial  way  of  living,  and  that  he 
had  learned  to  do  without  it.  He  had  learned  to 
live  after  a  pattern  that  she  would  approve  if  she 
knew  him  now.  She  had  always  been  above  all  this 
sort  of  thing,  farther  than  any  girl  he  had  ever  known, 
and  that  is  what  had  first  attracted  him.  Then  they 
had  gone  out  of  each  other's  lives  as  two  people  often 
do,  even  when  they  are  the  best  of  friends.  The 
miles  that  separate  the  West  from  the  East  are  al- 
most too  many  to  hold  up  a  friendship  for  a  long 
time.  He  felt  as  if  he  would  give  a  good  deal  now 
to  be  able  to  go  and  see  her  and  tell  her  how  his 

34 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

ideals  had  changed,  and  how  in  a  way  she  had  been 
the  cause  of  it. 

"  Say,  Biffy,  can't  yer  cut  it  short  ?  Ain't  we 
a-goinj  to  eat  them  aisters  ? "  and  with  a  leap  of  four 
years  and  anywhere  from  two  to  four  thousand  miles, 
Brink  came  back  to  earth. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Charles,  they  were  certainly 
put  here  for  some  such  purpose.  But  I  was  thinking 
of  old  times;  and  by  the  way,  Kid,  when  you  grow 
up,  that 's  one  thing  you  want  to  learn  to  forget. 
If  you  don't,  you  will  be  sorry  some  day." 

They  talked  on  about  all  the  things  that  are  under 
the  sun,  as  a  man  and  a  boy  will.  The  uncouth 
angles  of  Charlie's  manner  wore  off  as  the  meal  grew 
long,  and  over  the  sirloin  Brink  told  some  of  his  old 
football  experiences  into  two  eyes  that  struck  him 
as  being  the  most  sympathetic  he  had  ever  seen. 
Finally,  when  the  coffee  came  and  while  Brink  was 
watching  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  drift  about  the  palms 
that  stood  at  the  back  of  their  table,  he  asked  the  boy 
what  he  was  going  to  do  the  next  day. 

"  Holy  Moses !  "  the  Kid  commented,  sitting  bolt 
upright  in  his  chair,  "  if  I  ain't  forgot  the  hull  kit. 
There 's  another  layout  comin'  ter-morrow  wot  a 
young  lady  gives  twelve  of  us  fellars.  She 's  done 
it  fer  two  Christmases,  and  you  can  jest  bet  yer  life 
dere  bully  feeds.  And  say,  Biny,  if  that  girl  ain't  a 
corker,  Hully  Gee  !  " 

"  But  what  is  her  name  ?  "  Brink  asked,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  Jones,  or  Smith  or  —  " 

"  Ah,  gowan,  she  ain't  got  no  name  like  that.  De 
kids  all  calls  her  Miss  Helen  ;  but  her  name  is  Button, 
or  leastwise  it  sounds  like  some  such." 

35 


A  Ragamuffin  Santa  Claus 

Brink  took  a  firmer  hold  on  his  chair,  as  the  room 
seemed  to  swim  around  in  the  soft  music  and  the 
blur  of  the  lights.  But  he  was  used  to  taking  things 
coolly,  and  he  asked  in  his  usual  way,  — 

"  You  don't  mean  Miss  Helen  Denton,  do  you  ? " 

u  Shure  ;  did  n't  I  tell  you  it  looked  like  Button  ?  " 
Charlie  replied.  Then  his  eyes  opened  again  in 
amazement  as  they  had  once  before.  "  Say,  Biffy, 
how  did  yer  ever  tumble  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  used  to  know  her,"  he  answered  quietly ; 
but  somewhere  inside  him  there  was  a  tumult  going 
on,  and  he  felt  in  his  chest  as  if  it  was  going  to  burst. 
The  wonder  of  it  all  amazed  and  awed  him,  so  that 
he  could  n't  reason.  All  he  could  realize  was  that 
the  unexpected  had  happened. 

"  So  you  think  she 's  pretty  fine,  do  "you  ?  "  he 
said  at  last,  after  his  wonder  had  partly  gone  and 
not  knowing  what  he  did  say. 

"  I  could  lick  der  fellar  wot  says  she  ain't." 
Then,  "  You  'd  orter  come  too  ter-morrer ;  you 
ain't  no  other  place  ter  go." 

"Well,  Charles,  I  rather  think  I  will,"  Brink 
said ;  adding  in  an  undertone,  "  For  she  's  the  finest 
girl  in  the  world,  and  I  could  help  you,  Charles,  to 
lick  the  fellow  that  says  she  ain't." 

It  was  late  when  they  said  good-night,  out  in  front 
of  the  hotel.  Charles  had  walked  off  several  feet 
when  Brink  called  him  back  and  looked  him  all  over. 
Then  he  said  simply,  — 

"  I  want  to  take  back  what  I  said  about  forgetting 
the  past.  Don't  ever  let  go  of  any  memory  that  has 
a  girl  in  it,  Kid." 

36 


Nantucket 


NANTUCKET 

ADRIFT  in  taintless  seas  she  dreaming  lies, 
The  island  city,  time-worn  now,  and  gray, 
Her  dark  wharves  ruinous,  where  once  there  lay 
Tall  ships,  at  rest  from  far-sea  industries. 
The  busy  hand  of  trade  no  longer  plies 
Within  her  streets.     In  quiet  court  and  way 
The  grass  has  crept  —  and  sun  and  shadows  play 
Beneath  her  elms,  in  changing  traceries ; 
The  years  have  claimed  her  theirs,  and  the  still  peace 
Of  wind  and  sun  and  mist,  blown  thick  and  white, 
Has  folded  her.     The  voices  of  the  seas 
Through  many  a  soft,  bright  day  and  brooding  night 
Have  wrought  her  silence,  wide  as  they,  and  deep. 
And  dreaming  of  the  past,  she  waits  —  asleep. 


37 


The  End  of  It 


THE   END   OF   IT 

UP  and  down  the  village  street  the  lights  were 
fast  disappearing.  But  the  windows  of  the 
tavern  were  illumined  with  a  ruddy  glow,  and  from 
out  the  half-opened  door  a  tipsy  singing  reeled  and 
staggered  into  the  cool  night  air.  It  was  a  decrep't 
old  building,  leaning  groggily  backward  from  the  street 
and  sidewise  toward  the  new  brick  milliner's  shop 
next  door,  which  held  itself  stiffly  erect  as  if  in  prudish 
uneasiness  lest  her  disreputable  old  neighbor  should 
require  assistance.  And  yet,  for  all  its  befuddled 
decrepitude,  the  old  tavern  seemed  to  have  a  con- 
sciousness of  its  own  importance  in  village  affairs  and 
to  be  leering  out  of  its  bleary,  steamy  windows  at  the 
huddled  collection  of  cottages  around  it,  which  shrank 
away  into  the  protecting  darkness. 

Presently  a  woman  came  out  of  a  house  a  little 
way  up  the  street,  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  glaring 
light  before  the  door,  and  then  walked  on  with  a  sigh. 
But  in  a  moment  she  turned  and  came  back,  and 
stood  as  if  debating  whether  or  not  to  enter.  Mean- 
while the  singing  increased  in  loudness,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  vociferous  clapping  of  hands  and  stamping 
of  feet.  A  few  rods  away  the  waters  of  a  mill- 
stream  were  pouring  over  a  dam,  and  their  continuous 
roar  mingled  strangely  with  the  hilarious  sounds  of 
carousal.  How  doggedly  imperative  was  the  voice  of 
the  water,  as  if  the  stream  were  the  spokesman  of  fate 

38 


The  End  of  It 

itself,  now  exhorting,  now  entreating,  now  command- 
ing, now  forbidding,  and  yet  always  the  same  monoto- 
nous roar. 

The  woman  shivered.  Within  the  tavern  the 
carouse  gave  no  signs  of  coming  to  an  end.  At  last 
the  woman  entered  the  door. 

After  a  moment  or  two  the  noise  abated  somewhat, 
and  the  woman's  voice  could  be  heard,  urgent  and 
persuasive,  interrupted  at  first  by  whinings,  then  angry 
remonstrances,  and  then  by  imprecations.  Finally 
there  was  a  crash  as  of  a  falling  table,  followed  by  a 
scuffling  of  feet,  and  the  woman  appeared  on  the 
sidewalk  pale  and  trembling.  Still,  she  did  not  leave 
the  place,  but  crouched  in  the  shadow. 

And  now  again  the  roar  of  the  waterfall  was 
carried  to  her  ears,  exhorting,  entreating,  command- 
ing, forbidding  as  before.  She  arose,  but  stood  in 
hesitation,  listening  intently.  How  entirely  removed 
from  her  seemed  the  washings  and  ironings,  cleanings 
and  mendings,  gossipings  and  squabblings  of  a  few 
hours  ago.  It  would  be  impossible  to  go  back  to 
that  life  now,  —  quite  out  of  the  question.  The 
woman  turned  and  walked  listlessly  in  the  direction 
whence  came  the  sound  of  the  stream.  From  their 
places  in  the  distant  heaven  the  outposts  of  the 
immortals  looked  down  at  her  with  aristocratic 
indifference. 


39 


Barbara 


W 


BARBARA 

HEN  the  green  o'  the  year  comes  back, 

my  dear, 

Comes  back  to  the  patient  hills, 
And  weary  faith  may  keep  again, 
True  to  the  call  of  sun  and  rain, 
Spring's  covenant,  in  daffodils, — 

It 's  little  I  '11  care,  though  the  days  grow  fair 
And  time  takes  the  April  track  — 
When  the  heart  of  Spring  is  buried  deep 
In  the  quiet  place  where  you  lie  asleep, 
When  the  green  o'  the  year  comes  back. 


40 


"Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man" 


"GREATER  LOVE   HATH   NO   MAN" 

UT  if  you  will  pardon  me,  Colonel,  this  matter 
is  entirely  out  of  your  province.  You  have 
never  married,  you  cannot  understand.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  social  position  or  of  wealth.  I  don't  see 
that  it  is  at  all  a  matter  for  discussion.  It  *s  simply 
that  I  love  her ; "  and  the  younger  man  rose  and 
knocked  the  ashes  sharply  from  his  pipe. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I  believe  that  for  the 
present  at  least  you  do  love  her,  but  I  don't  think 
you  fully  understand  quite  what  an  important  step 
this  is  in  your  life.  You  have  n't  spoken  to  her  as 
yet  ? "  queried  the  elder  man,  anxiously. 

"No,  not  definitely,  but  I  think  we  understand 
each  other.  I  am  to  call  to-night,  and  I  hope  —  " 

u  Precisely,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Now  all  I  ask  of  you,  Bob,  is  that  you  take  time 
to  know  your  own  mind.  Time  is  the  only  register 
we  have  of  love's  depth,  and  while  you  are  proving 
your  love  for  her  you  can  test  her  love  for  you." 

"  I  need  no  proof  of  the  one,  I  would  not  test  the 
other  except  by  her  answer,"  said  Wayne,  proudly. 

The  Colonel  smiled,  half  in  indulgence,  half  in 
admiration.  "When  your  father  died,"  he  con- 
tinued, a  he  intrusted  you  to  my  care.  As  a  boy 
you  won  the  love  of  all  your  associates.  Your 
career  at  college  so  far  as  I  know  was  like  most 
young  men  of  your  position.  You  have  never  given 


"Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man" 

me  any  trouble.  Sometimes  I  have  even  felt  that  1 
was  not  keeping  my  promise  to  your  father  very 
well,  because  I  let  you  carry  out  a  good  many  notions 
of  your  own  which  in  themselves  were  unwise, 
merely  that  you  should  come  to  depend  on  yourself. 
Soon  you  will  have  grown  beyond  me,  and  acting  as 
I  am  trying  to,  for  your  own  good,  I  wish  you  might 
respect  this,  my  last  wish.  Wait  a  month,  wait  a 
year.  Understand  that  you  must  love  this  girl  better, 
and  be  willing  to  do  more  for  her  than  you  would 
for  your  own  self.  Understand  that  it  means  the 
total  abandonment  of  your  free-and-easy  life.  You 
cease  to  consult  merely  your  own  wishes  and  pleas- 
ures. For  a  while  even  the  club  will  be  out  of  the 
question. 

u  Most  people  are  selfish,  and  you  will  find  it  very 
hard  to  change  a  life  to  which  you  have  been  accus- 
tomed for  almost  thirty  years,  unless  you  get  in  re- 
turn the  best  love  a  woman  can  give.  Your  name, 
your  wealth,  make  you  a  desirable  husband,  from  a 
worldly  standpoint  alone.  Miss  Kent  is  nothing  if 
not  worldly,  and  you  know  yourself  that  her  position 
in  society,  the  training  of  her  whole  life,  would  lead 
her  to  marry  for  convenience  rather  than  love." 

Wayne  rose  with  a  little  gesture  of  despair.  "  It 
is  very  hard,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  appreciate  your 
affection  for  me.  I  know  you  are  looking  to  my 
best  interests,  and  you  purposely  make  it  very  hard 
for  me  to  refuse  you."  The  young  man  leaned  on 
the  mantelpiece  and  gazed  out  through  the  club 
window.  Outside  the  lights  were  beginning  to 
twinkle  cheerfully.  He  stood  there  for  some  mo- 
ments, scowling  moodily  out  upon  the  busy  panorama 

42 


"Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man" 

before  him.  The  Colonel  noted  his  advantage  and 
remained  silent.  Suddenly  Wayne  wheeled  sharply 
around. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am 
obeying  you  merely  out  of  respect  for  you,  and  not 
because  I  admit  that  your  course  is  wiser  or  better 
for  me.  I  think  you  are  wholly  wrong." 

The  elder  man  nodded.  "You  will  have  to  go 
away,"  he  said  meditatively,  u  and  I  think  —  yes, 
it  will  do  you  good  to  go  out  and  inspect  your  mines 
in  Colorado.  It  will  give  you  some  idea  of  the 
extent  of  your  own  property  and  the  labor  you 
control.  Your  mind  will  be  healthier  when  you 
return."  The  Colonel  glanced  at  his  watch. 

u  Send  your  man  right  over  to  pack  your  trunks," 
he  continued;  "you  can  just  comfortably  make  the 
ten  o'clock  limited." 

"  And  my  engagement  for  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Is  the  last  thing  I  want  you  to  keep.  Send 
your  regrets  immediately.  Urgent  business  has  called 
you  out  of  town.  You  don't  expect  to  be  back  for 
some  time." 

That  night  Wayne  gazed  moodily  out  upon  the  som- 
bre Hudson,  and  wondered  grimly  whether  the  Colonel 
had  been  as  merciless  in  war. 

After  almost  a  year's  absence  in  the  far  West  a 
dinner  at  the  club  is  an  especial  luxury.  So  Wayne 
thought  as  he  lingered  over  his  coffee.  He  was 
feeling  especially  satisfied  with  himself  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  having  done  something  and  done  it  well, 
and  of  having  conquered  himself  and  for  the  time 
being  set  aside  his  own  wishes.  It  did  seem  that 

43 


«  Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man" 

the  Colonel  was  right,  after  all.  His  mines  had 
interested  him  immensely.  He  had  spent  a  good 
deal  of  labor  and  thought  on  them,  and  his  efforts 
had  succeeded  far  beyond  his  hopes.  As  for  Miss 
Kent  —  well,  it  is  harder  for  love  to  find  entrance 
into  the  life  of  a  busy  man,  and  though  absence  may 
throw  a  halo  about  certain  memories,  still,  memories 
will  fade  and  — 

Wayne  was  musing  over  his  cigar ;  just  now  he 
was  thinking  how  good  it  seemed  to  be  back  in  New 
York,  and  to  see  his  old  haunts  once  more.  He 
rejoiced  in  the  possession  of  numerous  friends  who 
he  knew  cared  for  him  and  who  would  be  glad  to  see 
him.  In  the  cafe  several  women  had  nodded  brightly 
to  him.  The  pompous  head  waiter  beamed  kindly 
upon  him.  Even  the  soft,  mellow  lights  around  him 
seemed  to  blink  a  lazy  welcome  to  him.  Yet,  as  he 
sat  there  thinking,  he  grew  uneasy.  In  spite  of 
himself  a  certain  face  would  keep  appearing  before 
his  eyes.  "  It 's  no  use,  old  man,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. u  Might  just  as  well  stop  wishing.  Nobody 's 
in  town  in  August."  Just  then  Randall  rushed  up. 

u  Mighty  glad  to  see  you,  Bob ;  we  've  missed 
you  wonderfully.  How  've  you  been  ?  No,  much 
obliged,  can't  stop  now.  Yachting  party  coming  up 
from  Newport ;  got  to  order  dinner  and  dress.  Say, 
can't  you  join  us  ?  About  nine  I  should  say. 
That  *s  good.  Helen  Kent  is  to  be  there,  and,  of 
course,  Sir  Henry  Linton.  Biggest  catch  of  the 
season.  Well,  see  you  later ;  don't  forget." 

Wayne  sank  back  in  his  chair.  "  And,  of  course, 
Sir  Henry  Linton."  The  light  hurt  his  eyes,  the 
room  seemed  very  close.  He  rose  and  walked  slowly 

44 


"  Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man  " 

out  of  the  club  and  down  the  avenue  toward  his 
rooms.  Someway  he  longed  for  the  plains  of  Colo- 
rado where  he  could  see  for  miles  and  miles.  For  a 
long  time  he  sat  in  his  rooms  looking  very  gravely  at 
a  picture  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  occasionally  address- 
ing it.  As  it  was,  he  was  late  at  the  club.  His  face 
betrayed  no  emotion  as  he  took  his  seat  next  Miss  Kent. 

Their  greeting  was  that  of  people  who  had  come 
to  know  each  other  well  in  a  purely  worldly  way. 
Across  from  them  sat  Sir  Henry  Linton,  a  distin- 
guished looking  man,  rather  well  on  in  years,  with  a 
kindly  expression  on  his  face  which  was  irresistible. 
From  time  to  time  he  smiled  knowingly  and  rather 
gravely  at  Miss  Kent.  The  latter  was  especially 
brilliant ;  she  talked  of  everything  —  anything,  and 
the  dinner  was  half  over  before  Wayne  had  a  chance 
to  defeat  her  too  evident  purpose  in  so  doing.  Then 
he  leaned  over  toward  her. 

"  You  have  changed,"  he  said,  "  and  —  I  am  sorry, 
because,"  he  continued,  "  I  came  here  to-night 
especially  to  see  you  and  to  tell  you  something.  It 
was  a  little  unfinished  story  which  has  been  on  my 
mind  for  some  time,  and  which  I  wanted  you  to 
finish.  Your  demeanor  to-night  tells  me  that  the 
ending  would  not  be  a  happy  one,  and  yet  I  wish 
for  my  own  peace  of  mind  that  I  might  tell  it  to 
you." 

"  How  very  romantic  ! "  she  said.  "  Of  course 
you  may.  I  will  try  not  to  disappoint  your  expecta- 
tions as  to  the  ending." 

u  It  is  very  short,"  he  began.  tc  A  young  man 
whom  I  knew  intimately,  grew  to  care  very  much 
for  a  certain  girl,  and  she  was  especially  kind  to  him. 

45 


"  Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man  " 

Finally  he  decided  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her,  but 
one  of  his  very  best  friends  advised  him  to  wait  — 
to  go  away  —  in  short,  to  test  the  girl's  love.  So  the 
young  man  went  away,  much  against  his  wishes ;  and 
when  he  returned  several  things  told  him  that  the 
girl  did  not  love  him,  in  fact  had  grown  to  care  for 
another  man.  Now  —  " 

u  It  seems  to  me,"  she  broke  in,  <c  that  your  friend 
is  rather  too  weak  and  impossible  to  be  the  hero  of  a 
story.  As  I  knew  him,  he  played  a  very  different 
role,  especially  towards  the  end.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  I  know  of  him  ?  "  He  nodded  silently. 

u  Mine  is  not  a  pretty  story,"  she  began,  u  and  it 
is  especially  hard  for  me  to  tell  it  to  you.  A  girl 
who  had  lived  always  in  the  whirl  of  a  social  life, 
and  who  had  been  taught  that  friendships  were 
merely  maintained  in  so  far  as  they  were  a  means  to 
an  end,  and  that  all  life  was  but  a  game  of  give  and 
take,  of  which  a  strict  account  must  be  kept;  in 
short,  a  girl  who  had  never  been  taught  to  consider 
her  heart,  came  to  know  and  to  like  a  certain  man. 

"  She  liked  him  because  he  was  so  unselfish  — 
because  he  cared  for  her,  for  herself  alone.  He  was 
a  man  whom  any  girl  could  love,  and  he  was  very 
devoted.  There  could  be  only  one  result.  Then, 
just  as  their  friendship  was  budding  into  love — just 
as  the  world  began  to  take  on  a  new  and  happy  light 
for  her  —  he  went  away. 

"  For  some  time  she  continued  to  believe  in  him, 
then,  as  month  after  month  went  by,  she  learned  that 
he  was  only  one  of  a  great  many  young  men  who 
have  been  bred  to  look  down  upon  that  which  is  low 
and  vulgar,  and  who  turn  for  their  amusement  to 

4-5 


"  Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man" 

girls  of  their  own  class,  and  gain  favors  and  privileges 
from  these  girls  by  promises  they  never  expect  to 
keep  —  by  all  manner  of  white  society  lies  —  whose 
greatest  pleasure  is  in  overcoming  some  girl,  in  spoil- 
ing what  few  good  ideals  she  has,  and  then  leav- 
ing her  for  fields  untried,  unconquered."  She  had 
spoken  impulsively  and  very  earnestly ;  but  when  she 
paused  there  was  a  little  droop  about  her  mouth,  and 
a  look  almost  of  helplessness  in  her  eyes. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Wayne,  harshly.  She  threw 
her  head  back,  then  let  it  fall  wearily  forward. 

"No,"  she  said  softly.  "No,  a  man  came  who 
offered  her  everything,  everything  but  love,  and  in 
place  of  that  honor  and  devotion." 

"  And  she  took  it  ?  "  he  said  dully. 

"  May  God  forgive  her,  yes,"  she  answered. 

They  rose  from  the  table ;  seemingly  no  one  had 
noticed  them,  yet  Sir  Henry  was  no  longer  smiling. 
Wayne's  face  was  set  and  expressionless.  He  made 
his  way  through  the  diners  out  on  to  one  of  the  little 
balconies  overlooking  the  park.  He  saw  the  happy 
little  lights  strung  so  regularly  along  the  avenues  — 
of  his  past  life ;  then  he  turned,  and  in  the  gloomy 
vistas  of  the  park  he  saw  his  future. 

She  had  slipped  on  a  long  white  cloak.  "  I  came," 
she  said,  "  to  say  good-night,  and  perhaps  —  " 

"  Good-night,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  Have  you  no  mercy  ?  " 
she  said ;  "  I  spoke  hastily  to-night.  I  was  unjust 
to  you  and  to  myself,  and  I  have  come  to  say  that  I 


am  sorry." 


She    paused,   but   Wayne   was    still    silent.     She 
raised   her  head  with  an  effort.     u  If  I   must  go  I 

47 


"  Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man  " 

want  always  to  think  of  you  as  a  very  dear  friend. 
I  have  wronged  you.  Say  you  forgive  me."  She 
stretched  out  her  arms  toward  him. 

"  Don't,"  he  said  fiercely.  "  I  can't  hear  you 
blame  yourself."  He  took  her  hands  impulsively  in 
his.  In  another  moment  she  was  sobbing  like  a 
child  in  his  arms. 

Unnoticed  by  them  a  third  figure  had  stepped 
through  the  window.  It  was  Sir  Henry.  He 
stopped  abruptly,  with  one  hand  on  the  casement ; 
the  other  hand  closed  slowly  and  his  shoulders 
straightened.  Twice  he  started  to  speak. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said. 

Wayne  drew  back,  but  kept  his  arm  defiantly  about 
Miss  Kent.  Then  slowly  his  hands  sank  to  his 
sides.  But  Sir  Henry  was  not  looking  at  him. 

He  spoke  slowly.  u  Is  this  the  other  man  you 
told  me  of,  Miss  Kent  ?  " 

She  nodded  silently. 

tt  And  —  and  do  you  love  him  ?  " 

Her  only  answer  was  a  sob.  For  some  few 
moments  Sir  Henry  was  silent,  looking  first  at 
Wayne  and  then  at  her.  His  face  was  very  white. 

"  Yes,  it  is  best,"  he  said  softly.  u  I  am  growing 
old,  and  she  loves  him."  Then  aloud  :  "  Life  itself 
is  too  full  of  tragedies  for  people  of  your  age  to  be 
making  them.  There  have  been  several  in  my  life, 
although  never  one  just  like  this,  but  it  is  better  that 
I  should  bear  it  than  you."  Gently,  like  a  father,  he 
stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said.  "  May  the  best  of  this 
life  be  yours  always." 

"  I  can't  -«-  you  must  n't,"  broke  in  Wayne. 
48 


"  Greater  Love  Hath  No  Man"" 

a  It  is  not  for  you,"  said  Sir  Henry,  coldly ;  and 
then  before  they  could  stop  him  he  had  stepped 
through  the  window  and  was  gone. 

Going  through  the  lobby,  they  met  the  Colonel, 
who  immediately  and  forcibly  remarked  that  he  'd  be 
damned ;  which  remark,  even  as  events  turned  out, 
was  undoubtedly  true. 


49 


On  Board  the  "  Golden  Swallow 


ON  BOARD  THE  "GOLDEN  SWALLOW" 

A.  D.    1 7 

NOT  two  days  out  from  the  Spanish  Isles, 
With  the  wind  a-beam  and  fast, 
Skimmed  the  "  Golden  Swallow,"  plunder-piled, 
And  the  Black  Flag  at  her  mast. 

Young  Joris  climbed  to  a  rum-cask  high  — 
In  the  midst  of  the  lounging  throng, 

Flashed  a  smile  through  his  bearded  lips, 
And  trolled  a  catch  of  a  song. 

"  Ho  !  for  the  path  that  the  gray  gull  flies, 
The  wake  o'er  the  western  sea  — 

Up  with  the  anchor  and  trim  the  sails 
And  out  to  the  open  free ! 

"  And  here  to  harry,  and  there  to  spoil 

Of  booty,  of  gems  or  gold, 
No  palace  so  strong  nor  fortress  stanch 

As  to  daunt  the  pirates  bold ! 

"The  weakling  lords  in  their  moated  halls 

Grow  suddenly  pale  for  fear, 
Madre  de  Dios !  their  good  wine  flows 

In  pledge  to  the  buccaneer ! 
5° 


On  Board  the  "  Golden  Swallow  " 

u  There  *s  naught  so  sweet  as  a  young  maid's  lip ! 

Or  better  than  good  old  rum, 
Wine,  maids  and  gold,  for  the  pirate  bold, 

A  fig  for  the  Kingdom  Come  !  " 

And  out  to  the  west  from  the  Spanish  Isles, 

With  the  wind  a-beam  and  fast, 
Skimmed  the  "  Golden  Swallow  "  plunder-piled 

And  the  Black  Flag  at  her  mast ! 


A  Stampede 


A  STAMPEDE 

TTTVDR  several  weeks  the  cowboys  making  up  the 
"  Double  X  "  outfit  had  been  gathering  three- 
year-old  steers  for  the  fall  market.  The  results  were 
as  pretty  a  bunch  of  cattle  as  could  be  found  in 
Texas;  four  thousand  five  hundred  of  them,  and 
every  one  fat  and  in  perfect  condition.  The  wagon 
was  camped  for  the  night  in  the  valley  of  White 
Deer  Creek,  two  miles  from  the  bluffs  along  the 
Canadian.  Three  more  days  would  see  the  bunch 
safely  packed  in  trains  on  their  way  to  the  Chicago 
market,  so  that  it  was  most  important  that  they 
should  be  kept  from  running  an  ounce  of  fat  off  in 
stampede.  So  far  they  had  been  handled  as  easily 
as  sheep,  and  the  outfit  was  proud  of  itself. 

The  men  had  finished  the  evening  pork  and  beans, 
and  were  saddling  and  staking  out  their  horses  for 
night  guard.  Over  the  buttes  back  of  the  Canadian, 
a  bank  of  black  clouds  was  rapidly  covering  the 
whole  western  horizon.  Like  the  distant  roaring  of 
an  old  bull  preparing  for  battle,  angry  mutterings  of 
thunder  could  be  heard,  while  the  fitful  lightning 
flashes  showed  the  yellow  flood  of  the  great  river 
lashed  into  white  caps.  All  the  signs  pointed  to  a 
nasty  night,  and  Cal  Merchant,  the  foreman  of  the 
outfit,  gathered  his  men  together  at  the  tail  of  the 
wagon,  where  the  sweep  of  the  wind  was  broken. 

5* 


A  Stampede 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "there's  trouble  ahead  of  us. 
We  're  in  for  a  hell  of  a  storm,  and  I  want  you  all  to 
remember  that  the  bunch  of  red  beauties  out  there 
has  got  to  be  held  together  if  it  takes  every  horse  and 
every  man  in  the  outfit  to  do  it.  As  soon  as  they 
break  loose,  there 's  eighty  thousand  dollars  gone  to 
the  devil,  'cause  every  one  of  'em  will  run  over  the 
bluffs  into  the  Canadian.  Remember,  turn  em*  into 
the  sand  hills  if  they  start  to  run.  We  '11  double  the 
guard  so  that  every  man  stands  twice  for  an  hour  at  a 
time.  First  guard  had  better  go  out  now." 

As  the  crowd  was  breaking  up,  Joe,  the  horse 
wrangler,  commonly  known  as  u  The  Kid,"  timidly 
said  :  "  Cal,  ain't  you  goin'  to  let  me  help  hold  'em  ? 
I  've  got  Pinto  saddled,  and  I  reckon  he  can  run 
around  any  steer  in  the  Panhandle." 

"All  right,  Kid,"  was  the  reply,  "  if  you  're  so 
keen  to  try,  turn  out  with  the  third  guard." 

The  promised  storm  came,  and  came  with  a  fury  that 
bent  the  cottonwoods  along  the  creek  bottom  almost 
flat,  and  blew  the  embers  of  the  dying  fire  in  a  long, 
red  stream  up  the  valley.  After  the  wind,  came  the 
rain  hissing  through  the  dried  buffalo  grass,  which 
cringed  and  writhed  like  a  monster  cowering  under 
the  stinging  blows  from  some  giant's  hand.  The 
cattle  stood  huddled  together  with  heads  to  the 
ground,  all  facing  away  from  the  storm,  only  held 
from  drifting  with  it  by  the  shouts  and  yells  of  the 
men  who  rode  up  and  down  before  the  line  of  sullen, 
lowered  horns. 

In  this  fashion  the  hours  dragged  slowly  by  till  the 
third  guard  came  on.  Each  moment  the  cattle  be- 
came more  and  more  restless.  Occasionally  some 

53 


A  Stampede 

steer  would  make  a  dash  through  the  line  for  free- 
dom, only  to  be  turned  in  again  after  a  mad  run  of 
a  hundred  yards.  By  this  time  every  man  in  the 
outfit  was  on  his  horse  riding  around  the  bunch. 

It  was  the  Kid's  first  experience  with  "  snaky " 
cattle,  and  as  he  climbed  on  to  Pinto,  a  white  and 
pink  spindle-legged  Mexican  pony,  and  settled  him- 
self deep  in  the  saddle,  he  resolved  to  show  the  boys 
that  he  was  as  good  a  cowpuncher  as  any  of  them. 
Taking  his  place  in  the  circle  next  to  Cal,  he  rode 
slowly  up  and  down  the  restless,  ever-changing  line. 
It  was  cold  work  after  the  first  glow  of  excitement 
died  away,  and  his  hands  grew  so  numb  from  the 
lashing  of  the  rain  that  he  could  hardly  keep  his  grasp 
on  the  bridle.  After  what  seemed  to  him  an  infinite 
age  of  waiting  came  the  long  expected.  A  bolt  of 
lightning  crashed  its  way  from  the  blackness  above. 
Ripping  down  through  a  cottonwood,  it  disappeared 
into  the  trembling  earth.  Almost  before  the  Kid 
could  gather  his  reeling  senses,  came  a  hoarse,  wild 
shout  from  Cal,  u  They  're  loose,  boys  !  Get  after 
'em !  "  The  whole  herd  of  cattle,  stark  mad  from 
fear,  was  flying  down  the  valley  towards  the  bluffs 
and  to  certain  destruction. 

A  fierce,  deep  excitement  took  hold  of  the  Kid. 
Forgetting  the  dangers  from  the  uneven  ground  and 
the  grinding  hoofs,  he  gave  Pinto  quirk  and  spur, 
urging  him  to  the  front  of  the  flying  column.  Cal 
had  told  him  to  turn  them  from  the  bluff,  and  turn 
them  he  would,  if  Pinto's  legs  could  do  it.  He  lost 
all  fear  as  he  raced  along  by  the  stampeding  cattle. 
Pinto  seemed  to  skim  the  earth  as  he  settled  into  his 
long  racing  stride,  and  the  Kid,  trusting  all  things  to 

54 


A  Stampede 

his  horse,  threw  away  the  reins.  He  was  barely  con- 
scious of  bogs  and  gullies  jumped  in  the  wild  race ; 
of  other  men  who  shouted  to  him  as  he  flew  by, 
words  which  blurred  senselessly  in  his  brain.  The 
glaring  eyes  and  tossing  sea  of  horns  so  close  to  his 
left  hand  had  no  terror  for  him,  all  his  thought  was 
to  reach  and  turn  the  leaders  in  time  to  save  them. 
Behind  him  beat  the  merciless  hoofs  as,  on  a  long 
diagonal,  he  cut  in  before  the  herd ;  ahead  were  the 
jagged  bluffs  of  the  Canadian.  Now  he  was  almost 
even  with  the  leaders,  but  he  could  hear  above  the 
thunder  of  the  galloping  cattle,  the  roar  of  the  Cana- 
dian on  its  rocks.  Slowly,  slowly,  however,  the 
leaders  were  turning  to  the  left  into  the  sand  hills. 
The  sight  of  the  hatless,  yelling  devil  on  a  white 
pony  ahead  of  them  was  worse  than  the  unknown 
terror  behind. 

The  men  of  the  Double  X  outfit  don't  care  to  talk 
of  the  stampede  on  White  Deer,  for  they  all  liked  the 
Kid.  They  found  him  next  day  under  Pinto,  at  the 
bottom  of  a  crevasse  leading  to  the  river.  He  had 
saved  the  herd  by  the  narrow  margin  of  twenty  yards, 
but  Pinto  was  running  free  and  did  not  turn  with  the 
cattle. 

The  company,  however,  paid  its  usual  five  per 
cent  dividend  that  fall. 


55 


Cervera  at  Annapolis 


CERVERA  AT  ANNAPOLIS 

THEY  crowded  round  to  see  him,  great  and  small, 
The  conquered  admiral  of  a  conquered  fleet, 
Shorn  of  his  glories,  thrown  from  his  high  seat, 
Great  by  the  very  greatness  of  his  fall. 
Hope,  fortune,  honor,  lost  beyond  recall, 
Gray-haired  and  bitter-hearted ;  doomed  to  meet 
His  country's  censure,  sharper  than  defeat, 
His  foeman's  pity — that  was  worst  of  all. 

He  heard  them  faintly,  as  one  hears,  amuse, 

Amid  his  vision  voices  far  away 

That  call  him  from  sad  dreams  to  sadder  day ; 

For  he  was  where  he  would  be  could  he  choose, 

At  peace  beneath  the  waters  of  the  bay 

Where  all  his  ships  lay  silent,  with  their  crews.        * 


Advice 


ADVICE 

SOME  one  gave  Tommy  a  nice,  shiny  dime. 
Lollipop  visions  floated  through  Tommy's 
head. 

u  Tommy,  you  must  put  the  money  the  kind  gen- 
tleman gave  you  in  your  new  bank,"  said  Tommy's 
Aunt  Jemima. 

Duty,  that  Dread  Power,  began  chasing  out  the 
visions,  as  Aunt  Jemima  did  the  hens  with  her  broom 
from  the  front  garden.  And  they  came  back  just  as 
the  hens  always  did  when  Aunt  Jemima's  back  was 
turned.  Nature  in  her  lesser  creations  sets  the  poor 
moral  animal  a  shocking  example. 

But  the  dime  slipped  through  the  slot  —  rather 
slowly  —  Aunt  Jemima  superintending. 

This  did  not  end  the  battle  necessarily.  Duty 
usually  won  the  first  skirmish.  There  was  a  way  — 
a  skilful  inversion  of  the  bank  —  by  which  the  dime 
might  be  brought  back  again  under  the  laws  of  supply 
and  demand ;  it  had  been  tried  before  in  cases  of  ex- 
treme pressure  and  great  financial  stringency.  But 
detection  was  sure  sooner  or  later. 

So,  really,  the  conflict  was  but  just  begun.  On 
one  side  there  were  the  visions  aforementioned  ever 
increasing  in  their  sugary  seductiveness ;  and  on  the 
other  side,  supplementing  the  Dread  Power,  whose 
prestige  began  to  wane  when  her  earthly  representa- 
tive was  no  longer  at  hand,  other  visions  —  confine- 

57 


Advice 

ment  to  the  society  of  one's  bedchamber  furniture  for 
twenty-four  hours ;  and  then,  perhaps  more  remote,  a 
midnight  call  from  the  family  physician  with  the  con- 
comitant unpleasantness  —  for  a  dime,  if  expended  in 
a  candy  shop  with  the  thrifty  prudence  (I  speak  ad- 
visedly) of  seven  years  old,  can  do  wonders. 

I  do  not  know  which  side  carried  off  the  laurels. 
A  cynical  person  might  say  that  it  mattered  little, 
there  being  something  to  be  gained  and  something  to 
be  lost  in  either  case.  But  you  can  read  as  much  of  a 
moral,  or  of  an  immoral,  into  this  as  you  choose.  I 
merely  relate  the  situation  as  one  capable  of  being 
reflected  upon. 


Sacrament 


SACRAMENT 

GOWL'D  deep  in  mist  the  great  hills  kneeled, 
While  on  the  East's  high-altar  bright, 
The  Host  of  Dawn  lay,  full  revealed, 
In  the  clear  monstrance  of  the  Light. 


59 


is  Son's  Enemies 


HIS  SON'S  ENEMIES 

AT  a  small  table  in  a  cafe  of  a  low  order,  on  one 
of  the  many  side  streets  that  lead  down  to  the 
Seine,  near  the  morgue,  sat  Jean  Coqulard.  His  body 
was  slouched  forward,  and  his  long  muscular  hands 
clasped  before  him,  in  what  a  careless  passer-by  might 
call  an  attitude  of  prayer.  But  his  eyes  looked 
straight  ahead  in  a  peculiar,  hard,  vacant  stare.  Few, 
if  any,  noticed  him,  and  if  they  did,  probably  judged 
him  from  his  dress  to  be  an  old  habitue  of  the  place, 
and  there  more  on  sufferance  than  anything  else. 
The  room  was  thick  with  cheap  tobacco  smoke, 
which  the  wind,  when  the  street  door  was  opened, 
carried  across  the  place  in  little  whirlwinds.  The 
lights  from  many  cigarettes  showed  dimly  like  glow- 
worms in  the  dense  air.  At  the  other  end  of  the 
room  some  one  was  playing  a  mandolin  and  singing  in 
a  maudlin  voice. 

The  kerosene  lamps  had  begun  to  smoke  at  this 
late  hour,  and  the  people  passing  in  and  out  seemed 
out  of  proportion,  and  like  the  fantastic  shadows  cast 
on  the  roadside  at  night  by  the  side  lamps  of  a  dog- 
cart. Jean  saw  none  of  these  things.  He  was  think- 
ing of  the  journey  he  had  just  taken  to  the  great 
prison  outside  the  city  walls,  where  low  malefactors 
were  confined  for  short  terms  and  worse  ones  received 
a  five  or  six  years'  sentence. 

Jean's  son  was  one  of  the  latter.  For  repeated 
small  crimes  he  had  at  last  been  sentenced  for  four 

60 


His  Son's  Enemies 

years,  and  his  father  had  seen  him  enter  the  great 
iron-barred  gates  of  the  prison,  very  much  as  he 
would  see  him  enter  his  workshop  in  the  morning, 
knowing  that  a  certain  time  must  elapse,  a  necessary 
evil,  before  the  evening  would  free  him  to  wander 
once  more  in  his  old  haunts.  His  sentence  expired 
that  evening,  and  he  had  gone  to  get  him,  but  was  in- 
formed that  on  the  day  before  his  son  had  died  of 
some  disease,  whose  unfamiliar  name  he  could  not 
remember,  and  that  a  Mass  had  been  said  for  the 
repose  of  his  soul,  and  he  was  now  number  4761  in 
the  prison  graveyard.  The  warden  actually  congratu- 
lated Jean  on  his  good  fortune.  "  No  one  like  that, 
that  son  of  yours,  ever  comes  to  any  good.  I  have 
been  here  twelve  years  and  can  tell.  A  fellow  of  his 
particular  stamp  never  reforms.  Perhaps  Monsieur  has 
other  better  sons  ?  Yes  ?  "  But  Jean  did  not  answer 
him,  but  walked  back  to  the  cafe  like  one  in  a  dream. 
So  his  son  was  dead,  his  little  Henri,  who  was  such 
a  fine  fellow,  no  better  company  than  he ;  and  now 
he  was  dead.  He  could  imagine  how  he  had  died, 
there  in  the  prison,  alone,  with  none  of  his  friends 
around  him,  looking  out  longingly,  perhaps,  out  of 
the  little  iron-barred  window,  out  over  the  plain 
where  the  soldiers  drilled,  to  the  walls  of  the  city, 
where  the  lights  twinkled,  and  where  the  great  Eiffel 
Tower  rose  straight  and  slim,  like  a  great  exclamation 
point  out  of  the  flat  page  of  the  city.  He  sat  and 
thought  and  lived  over  again  their  lives  which  had 
been  so  entwined,  thought  how  as  a  little  fellow  he 
had  carried  him  in  his  arms  of  a  Sunday  to  the  Bois 
to  see  the  crowd,  or  gone  with  him  on  one  of  the 
little  steamers  that  go  up  and  down  the  Seine,  and 

61 


His  Son's  Enemies 

when  he  was  older  how  often  they  had  spent  the  even- 
ing together  in  some  place  of  amusement.  Yes,  how 
often  at  that  cafe  and  at  that  very  table.  But  Henri 
had  a  weakness, —  was  always  taking  little  things  that 
were  not  his,  and  repeated  offences  had  finally  gotten 
him  this  last  sentence.  Each  time  he  had  promised  to 
reform,  but  as  often  slipped  from  his  good  intentions. 
The  old  story. 

A  great  wave  of  anger  overcame  Jean;  an  un- 
reasonable rage  that  longed  to  cry  out,  to  bite,  to  tear 
with  the  hands.  What  right  had  the  officials  to  take 
his  son  from  him,  to  kill  him  like  a  rat  in  a  trap  out 
there  beyond  the  city  walls  ?  He  seized  the  bottle  of 
cognac  that  stood  before  him  on  the  table,  and  drank 
the  remaining  half  without  stopping.  He  smiled ;  a 
feeling  of  warmth  came  over  him,  and  a  numbness  so 
that  the  people  talking  round  him  seemed  a  great 
way  off.  He  rose,  say  ing  to  himself:  "Now  I  know 
the  way.  Now  all  will  go  well." 

He  went  out  and  walked  toward  the  Seine,  which  ran 
black  and  oily  at  the  lower  end  of  the  street.  He  came 
to  the  edge  and,  leaning  over  the  low  railing,  looked 
into  the  water  where  the  ripples  made  the  reflection 
of  the  gas-lamp  above  him  waver  and  seem  to  beckon 
to  him.  He  heard  a  step  approaching ;  a  gendarme 
gorgeous  in  his  blue  and  red  uniform  was  making  his 
rounds,  a  comely  young  fellow,  who  whistled  softly 
to  himself  as  he  looked  out  over  the  water,  thinking 
perhaps  of  his  mother  in  her  little  home  in  the  Prov- 
inces, to  whom  he  was  to  send  half  his  pay  when  he 
received  it  at  the  end  of  the  month. 

Jean  watched  him  and,  as  he  did,  the  wave  of 
anger  came  over  him  again.  So  this  was  one  of  the 

62 


His  Son's  Enemies 

crew  that  had  taken  his  son  to  that  place  to  die. 
This  was  one  of  those  who  had  robbed  him  of  his  little 
Henri.  Well,  he  would  show  them.  He  — 

Two  days  later,  far  down  the  Seine,  where  the 
fishing-boats  from  Havre  anchor  by  the  shores  fringed 
with  tall  Lombardy  poplars,  something  red  and  blue 
floated  in  mid-stream,  face  downwards.  And  an  old 
man  jibbered  and  gnawed  at  his  hands  in  a  cell,  from 
the  windows  of  which  could  be  seen  the  plain  where 
the  soldiers  drill,  stretching  away  to  the  walls  of  the 
city,  where  the  lights  twinkled  and  the  great  tower 
rose  dimly  through  the  darkness.  For  Jean  Coqulard 
was  mad. 


Nox  Christ! 


NOX   CHRISTI 

A   CHRISTMAS   MYSTERY 

PERSONS. 

MATER,  JOSEPHUS,  PASTOR  PRIMUS,  PASTOR  SECUNDUS, 
ANGELI 

SCENE.  —  The  Stable  in  Bethlehem. 

Mater.  — 

THE  winter  night  is  bleak  and  wild, 
Yet  one  great  star  burns  clear. 
What  aileth  thee,  my  little  child, 

Thus  crying  out  in  fear, 
What  aileth  thee,  that  thou  shouldst  weep? 
See  !  I  will  sing,  and  thou  wilt  sleep. 

[Here  shall  she  sing  : 
What  gift  shall  the  great  ones  bring  ? 
What  gift  for  their  new-born  king  ? 
Red,  red  gold  their  gift  shall  be, 
Fine  tried  gold  for  royalty. 

What  gift  shall  the  maidens  bring  ? 
What  gift  for  their  new-born  king  ? 
Richly  wrought  embroideries 
Of  golden  thread  on  peacock  dyes. 

What  gift  shall  the  people  bring  ? 
What  gift  for  their  new-born  king  ? 

[  The  child  wails  again. 


Nox  Christ! 

Mater.      Thy  Mother  watches,  little  child, 

And  safe  upon  her  breast 
Fear  thou  no  hurtful  thing  or  wild, 

But  sleep  and  take  thy  rest; 
My  Royal  One,  my  Holy  One, 

Thou  child  of  God,  my  little  son ! 

[Here  shall  enter  JOSEPHUS. 

Josephus.    The  inn  is  full,  we  must  abide 

Within  this  stable-place. 
Ah  !  .What  is  this  lies  at  thy  side  ? 
It  is  the  child  of  grace  ! 

\IIe  worships. 

Hail !  Thou  of  angels'  prophecy, 

Hail !  Christ-child  born  our  king  to  be  ! 

[Angeli  heard  as  afar  off. 

Angell.     IN    TERRA    PAX    ET    HOMINIBUS    VOLUNTAS ! 

Josephus.    Lord,  is  it  thus  Thou  com'st  to  reign 

In  such  humility  ? 
On  cushions  soft  Thou  shouldst  have  lain, 

Be  clothed  with  majesty. 
Mater.      Rough    swaddling-clothes    must    be    Thy 

wear, 
Josephus.   Thy  throne,  this  manger  rude  and  bare. 

Angell.     HOSANNA  !      HOSANNA !      AMEN  ! 

[Here  shall  be  heard  without^  Pastores. 

Pastores.     Star-led  come  we  o'er  weald  and  wold, 

We  may  not  stop  nor  stay, 
We  seek  the  king  so  long  foretold, 
His  star  hath  led  the  way. 


Nox  Christi 

Primus.      See,  it  hath  stopped  !     Here  hath  it  led  ! 
Secundus.    What !  Here,  our  king  ?  This  stable-shed  ! 
[Here  shall  enter  Pastores.      They  stand  amazed. 

We  find  no  king,  but  gently  laid 
Midst  soft-eyed  kine  and  mild, 

We  see  a  simple  mother-maid 
Smile  o'er  a  little  child. 

A  little  child  !     It  cannot  be 

That  he  hath  come  to  set  us  free ! 

Angeli.   HOSANNA  !  HOSANNA  !  IN  EXCELSIS,  GLORIA  ! 

Primus.      Kneel,  brother,  kneel !     For  this  is  He ; 

We  have  not  sought  in  vain. 
Secundus.    When  angels  worship,  shall  not  we  ? 

O  Little  King,  long  reign  ! 
Both.         The  Angels'  song  we  raise  again. 

Sing,  IN  EXCELSIS,  GLORIA. 

\And  here  subjoineth  all. 
AMEN! 


66 


An  Obscure  Heroine 


AN   OBSCURE   HEROINE 

THEY  were  dining  at  Parker's.     It  was  eleven 
o'clock,   and   the    Boy    was    trying    not   to 
appear  sleepy. 

The  big  plumes  of  the  actress*  hat  drooped  be- 
tween her  eyes  and  the  light  that  fell  from  many  little 
chandeliers.  But  in  the  seclusion  of  the  shadow  her 
gaze  was  even  more  lustrous  than  before,  and  the 
Boy,  as  he  looked,  dreamed  that  they  were  the  eyes 
of  a  leopard.  Soft  feathers  and  long  eyelashes  make 
an  intricate  labyrinth  and  a  very  mazy  jungle. 

Making  an  effort,  the  Boy  straightened  up. 

"Julie,"  he  said. 

<c  Mm  —  hm  ?  "  said  the  actress,  lifting  her  brows. 

"  You  have  beautiful  eyes." 

"  Mm  —  hm."     The  brows  descended. 

After  a  pause : 

"Julie." 

"  Mm  —  hm  ?  "  toying  with  her  champagne  glass. 

"  I  wish  —  I  wish  you  would  n't  —  would  n't  wear 
that  costume  any  more." 

The  actress  pursed  her  lips  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  Business,"  she  said. 

"  But,"  objected  the  Boy,  "  don't  you  see  how  it 
is  ?  that  it 's  different  with  us  —  that  we  've  met  so 
often  —  that — hang  it,  Julie,  that  I  love  you  ?  " 

The  hat  plumes  rose  and  showed  hungry  eyes. 
67 


An  Obscure  Heroine 

"  Say  that  again,"  she  whispered  fiercely. 

"  I  love  you,"  repeated  the  Boy,  more  firmly.  "  I  've 
got  a  ranch  out  in  Texas,  twenty  thousand  head  of 
cattle  and  all  that  —  whole  outfit,  you  know.  The 
Gov'nor  gave  it  to  me  last  Christmas." 

He  leaned  forward  with  both  elbows  on  the  table, 
his  head  between  his  palms. 

"  Say  you  '11  go,"  he  whispered. 

But  the  actress  was  silent,  and  the  nodding  plumes 
concealed  twin  tears. 

"  Say  you  '11  go,"  reiterated  the  Boy. 

"  I  '11  go,"  she  said,  looking  up.  "  But  it  is  early. 
Order  another  bottle."  And  because  she  spoke  so, 
the  Boy  was  blind  and  could  not  see  that  there  was 
Self-Denial  in  her  face,  and  that  the  twin  tears  were 
no  longer  those  of  Joy. 

He  turned  to  the  waiter.  The  actress  reached 
out  over  his  half-empty  glass.  There  fell  from  a 
locket  on  her  wrist  a  little  pellet,  which  fizzed  and 
dissolved. 

They  clinked  glasses  and  drank. 

Presently  the  Boy  mumbled  dizzily  :  "  Why  don't 
we  go  ?  I  '11  order  the  cab." 

«  Yes  —  do  so,"  said  the  actress. 

But  his  eyes  were  heavy  —  closed.  She  smiled 
and  rose. 

"  Take  him  to  the  Union  Club  when  he  wakes  up," 
she  said  to  the  attendant  at  the  door. 

And  her  face  was  radiant  as  she  passed  out  into  the 
noise  and  electric  glare  of  the  street,  and  the  twin 
tears  twinkled  like  two  stars.  '..•: 


68 


They  Say  her  Face  is  Passing  Fair 


THEY  SAY  HER  FACE   IS   PASSING 
FAIR 

THEY  say  her  face  is  passing  fair  — 
And  this  her  soul  exemplifies  — 
But,  blinded  by  some  passion's  snare, 
I  looked  —  and  only  saw  her  eyes. 

They  say  her  eyes  are  ocean's  blue, 

Nor  fain  would  I  their  words  condemn, 

For  never  have  I  marked  their  hue  — 
But  only  saw  herself  in  them. 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 


THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   GOD 

WHITMAN  sat  on  the  veranda  and  looked 
vacantly  off  toward  the  dull  glow  in  the 
west.  Twilight  in  ^Yucatan  is  no  time  to  discuss 
mathematics,  and,  with  a  young  lady  in  a  great  arm- 
chair only  a  few  feet  away,  it  is  sacrilege.  Still,  that 
was  the  subject  of  the  conversation. 

"  How  absurd  !  So  you  really  think  women  are 
poor  mathematicians  ?  " 

It  was  a  hard  question,  but  Whitman  was  not  the 
man  to  flinch.  He  had  sedulously  avoided  girls  ever 
since  he  could  remember,  and  could  speak  to  them 
with  a  frankness  which  the  average  person  might 
envy. 

If  he  was  sitting  only  four  yards  away  from  one 
now,  the  Fates  knew  it  was  n't  his  fault.  Two 
months  before,  at  the  invitation  of  Senor  Cortez,  he 
had  come  down  to  gather  data  for  his  father's  great 
work  on  "  The  Ancient  Ruins  of  Yucatan,"  and  no 
one  had  been  more  surprised  than  he  to  find  that 
the  hospitable  household  already  entertained  Tom 
Wakely,  of  college  memories,  and  Tom's  uncle  and 
fair  cousin.  Tom  was  gunning,  his  uncle  was 
entomologizing,  and  Miss  Ethel  —  girls  seem  to 
have  no  serious  purpose  in  life  anyway. 

All  this  explains  how  he  could  say  bravely  that 
mathematics  seemed  to  be  for  men  and  poetry  for 
women. 

70 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

This  was  too  much,  and  Miss  Ethel  spoke  out 
impatiently  :  "  Poetry  !  pshaw  !  Some  day  I  think 
[  can  show  you  that  it 's  just  the  other  way  round." 

Just  then  Tom,  who  sat  off  in  a  corner,  with  his 
chair  tilted  at  a  most  remarkable  angle,  broke  in 
with  :  "  Oh,  let  up  on  this  ;  "  —  the  mathematics  had 
never  been  kind  to  him  —  "  day  after  to-morrow  we 
are  going  to  leave  Will  here,  digging  around  in  the 
ruins,  and  you  '11  probably  never  see  him  again  ;  don't 
get  him  all  worked  up.  By  the  way,  I  've  made  all 
the  arrangements  for  our  visit  to  the  temple  of 
Huetzilopochtli  to-morrow  —  " 

44  Mercy  !  "  interrupted  Miss  Ethel,  hands  at  ears. 
"  —  and  also,"  he  continued,  "  I  have  learned  all 
about  it  from  the  Don.  You  wanted  to  know 
about  those  Edgar  Allan  Poe  human  sacrifices  they 
used  to  have.  Here  Js  the  story.  People  from  all 
around  the  country  used  to  go  there,  and  a  good  many 
of  course  were  of  the  very  pious  kind,  who  hung 
around  in  the  temple,  worshipping  like  sixty  till  all 
of  a  sudden  they  found  that  the  water  was  beginning 
to  rise.  This  used  to  take  place  about  supper-time, 
and  by  that  time  a  big  obelisk  outside  had  thrown  a 
shadow  clear  across  the  doorway.  Well,  this  shadow 
was  a  consecrated  shadow  —  some  sun-god  business 
—  and  to  cross  it  was  a  horrible  sacrilege.  But  the 
people  inside  did  n't  know  anything  about  the  shadow, 
ten  to  one;  and  if  they  did,  it  was  n't  any  use; 
they  had  stayed  so  late.  Out  they  would  rush,  and 
the  priests  tended  to  the  rest.  In  that  way  they 
satisfied  Maya  scruples  and  Aztec  requirements. 
About  a  hundred  years  ago  the  Don  lost  an  ancestor 
that  way,  and  the  old  place  has  since  been  sacked, 

71 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

and  gone  to  rack  and  ruin ;  but  no  one  has  been 
down  there  for  a  century,  and  it  would  be  nineteenth- 
century  enterprise  to  go  down,  count  skeletons,  and 
bring  away  the  temple  in  our  pockets,  with  some 
good  lies  and  kodak-pictures." 

The  old  Spanish  clock  downstairs  was  striking 
eleven  when  Whitman  retired  that  night ;  but  the 
incessant  clatter  of  the  countless  insects  which  make 
hideous  a  tropic  night,  was  more  conducive  to  reverie 
than  to  sleep.  Airy  visions  floated  in  through  the 
window,  and  he  was  annoyed  to  see  that  every  one 
contained  the  graceful,  girlish  form  he  knew  so  well. 
Probably  it  was  because  she  was  going  away  so  soon, 
but  he  felt  that  it  was  unworthy  of  his  manly  heart. 
Still,  she  was  a  remarkable  girl  and  had  sailed  through 
Vassar  in  a  halo  of  mathematical  glory,  with  the 
special  commendation  of  Maria  Mitchell ;  and  he 
had  a  soft  place  in  his  heart  for  any  one  who  courted 
the  mathematics.  On  the  whole,  he  was  ashamed 
of  such  weakness  and  tried  to  imagine  the  phantom 
forms  less  fair;  and,  failing  in  this,  began  to  long 
for  potassium  bromide,  and  ended  up  by  counting 
sheep  jumping  over  a  stile.  It  was  no  use;  it 
wasn't  possible  to  get  to  sleep  that  way;  and,  be- 
sides, there  was  a  sheep  who  proved  to  be  Monte- 
zuma,  last  emperor  of  the  Aztecs ;  and  he  wished  to 
extract  his  young  friend's  heart  in  the  good  old 
Aztec  fashion;  for  as  far  as  he  —  Montezuma  — 
could  see,  he  had  no  use  for  it.  Then  Miss  Ethel 
—  for  it  was  she  —  said  the  square  on  the  hypothe- 
nuse  was  a  circle —  It  was  six  when  he  awoke, 
and  the  horses  were  ready.  It  was  a  fine  cold 
winter  day,  with  prospect  of  the  thermometer  stop- 

72 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

ping  at  seventy-six  degrees  Fahrenheit.  The  old 
Spaniard  was  to  escort  them  the  first  mile,  and  he 
rode  off  ahead  with  Miss  Ethel. 

The  dew  sent  tiny  javelins  of  light  hither  and 
thither,  and  the  perfume  of  the  forest  was  a  whole 
Arabia  and  Cathay.  If  there  is  one  thing  rarer  than 
a  day  in.  June,  it  is  a  day  in  Yucatan. 

"  Fine  old  fellow,"  quoth  Thomas,  nodding  ahead 
at  the  old  Spaniard.  "  So  she  is,"  answered  Whit- 
man, showing  that  his  thoughts  were  not  on  temples, 
which  in  most  languages  are  of  anything  but  femi- 
nine gender.  "You'd  better  drop  the  cs,'  old  man. 
You  know  you  once  said  the  nineteenth  letter  of  the 
English  alphabet  was  a  barbarous  superfluity.  She 
is  n't  old,  you  know  ;  why,  only  —  well,  log  2.30 1 030, 
which  is  the  same  as  not  telling  you." 

"The  characteristic  is  characteristic  of  you;  make 

it  3-" 

"  She  won't  thank  you  for  that,  and  I  '11  tell." 

"  « She '  be  hanged  !  " 

"  Hope  not,  William.  She  likes  you  immensely, 
only  you  're  such  an  old  mathematical  fossil.  To 
be  grave,  here 's  a  piece  of  sound  advice.  Be  a  fossil 
all  you  want,  only,  when  the  time  comes  to  act 
don't  stand  like  a  stump  as  most  fossils  do.  Other- 
wise —  good-by  to  the  ladies.  Really,  unless  you 
sober  down  from  your  sines  and  cosines,  she  can 
never  —  " 

Here  the  old  Spaniard  came  riding  back,  and  a 
tournament  was  prevented.  They  had  now  turned 
into  a  by-path,  remarkably  well  defined  considering 
that  it  led  only  to  a  disused  temple  and  had  been 
barely  saved  from  complete  erasion  by  the  nature  of 

73 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

the  ground.  Great  bars  of  sunlight  streamed  through 
the  trees  here  and  there,  and  stood  out  against  the 
woodland  shadows  like  veins  of  silver  in  a  coal- 
measure.  Hither  and  thither  darted  humming-birds 
and  orioles,  and  once  a  magnificent  trogon  swept 
across  the  sunlight,  trailing  its  gorgeous  rainbow 
behind  it. 

A  mottled  snake  writhed  across  the  path,  and 
everywhere  were  abundant  life  and  the  glory  of  early 
morning. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  day  when  they  trotted  out 
on  the  plateau  where  the  temple  lay,  sleeping  in  the 
sun;  for  it  is  not  wise  to  hurry  in  latitude  twenty 
degrees,  even  in  winter.  At  the  end  of  a  long  street, 
lined  on  either  side  by  great  rough  monoliths,  was 
the  temple,  a  conical  hill,  hewn  into  terraces,  and 
overgrown  with  the  radiant  leaves  of  the  yucca.  All 
underneath  was  the  great  cavern,  with  carved  and 
painted  walls,  and  mighty  altars  long  since  cold.  A 
broad  stone  porch,  high  as  a  man's  shoulders,  and 
furnished  at  both  sides  with  a  parapet,  stood  out 
from  the  front  of  the  temple ;  and  on  the  western 
parapet  to  their  right  stood  a  short  pillar  like  an 
inverted  Egyptian  obelisk  minus  its  apex.  The 
whole  west  face  of  the  structure  rose  straight  from 
the  sombre  waters  of  a  little  lake,  in  whose  depths 
the  pillar  was  mirrored  clear  and  bright. 

The  doorway  opened  out  on  the  great  porch,  and 
was  so  low  that  it  scarce  gave  passage  for  a  man  on 
hands  and  knees.  Grotesque  sculptures  appeared  on 
every  hand ;  one  being  especially  noticeable  where  a 
king  wearing  a  crown  which  would  have  floored  such 
men  as  live  in  our  days,  poured  holy  water  over  a 

74 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

dead  cat,  —  an   occult   ceremony   which  must   have 
stirred  the  holy  enthusiasm  of  many  a  pious  heart. 

"  Well,"  said  Whitman,  u  it's  easy  to  believe 
Tom's  story  now.  That  lake  is  plainly  an  intermit- 
tent spring,  and  any  one  can  see  that  the  shadow  from 
that  pillar  will  lie  almost  directly  across  the  door- 
way to-night.  The  man  who  tarried  too  long  in 
there  tarried  till  the  vultures  were  satisfied  out  here  ;  " 
and  he  looked  at  a  great  bird  soaring  a  thousand  feet 
above  them. 

Miss  Ethel  shivered,  and  would  not  sit  in  the 
shade  of  the  eastern  pylon ;  so,  as  soon  as  they 
had  looked  around,  and  had  ascertained  that  the 
entrance  passage  plunged  steeply  down  into  the  hill, 
they  went  off  to  sit  by  the  lake-side. 

It  was  a  weird  spot  in  that  hoary  sepulchre  of  an 
Ancient  faith,  but  Tom  was  irrepressible.  "  Great 
old  building ;  humph  !  Eleven  o'clock ;  at  three  I  am 
going  to  explore  the  whole  thing  inside.  It  Js  as 
big  as  all  creation,  and  will  take  the  afternoon ; 
besides,  I  have  n't  seen  any  skeletons." 

"  You  '11  get  lost,  sir  j  it 's  a  regular  labyrinth 
inside,"  objected  Ethel. 

u  There  are  hands  cut  in  the  rock  at  every  cross- 
roads to  show  the  way,  and  look  at  all  these 
candles." 

"  But  the  old  priests  —  " 

u  Dead  and  gone  a  century." 

"  But  some  of  them  might  —  " 

"  None  of  them  do.     You  're  nervous,  miss." 

She  flushed,  and  said  something  about  intuition  of 
women. 

"  Stops  up  at  the  Rio  Grande." 
75 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

Such  logic  was  invincible,  and  yet  she  seemed 
dissatisfied.  At  length  she  got  him  to  promise  to 
come  out  before  the  shadow  reached  the  door  ;  and 
as  she  seemed  very  worried  and  anxious,  the  conces- 
sion was  made  —  and  Tom  was  careful  to  keep  his 
promises.  But  here  a  difficulty  arose.  Little  was 
known  of  the  temple  interior,  but  by  common  report 
it  was  a  small  edition  of  the  Mammoth  Cave.  How 
could  one  inside  know  when  the  shadow  reached  the 
door  ?  It  had  been  taken  for  granted  that  Whitman 
should  stay  out  with  Miss  Ethel,  for  she  would 
never  consent  to  enter,  even  if  it  were  feasible.  He 
might  go  in  and  give  warning,  but  the  chances  of 
his  finding  Tom  were  ridiculously  small,  and  Tom 
could  n't  keep  running  back  to  the  entrance  to  find 
out. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  said  Tom,  "  work  it  out  by 
mathematics ;  that  will  be  sport.  Make  Ethel  do  it. 
There,  my  dear,  is  a  chance  to  show  that  men  are 
poets,  and  women  mathematicians." 

She  started  at  having  her  words  thrown  up  at  her 
so  soon,  and  colored  deeply,  but  she  felt  that  the 
reputation  of  her  sex  rested  upon  her.  She  threw 
her  head  back  and  a  little  to  one  side,  defiantly,  as 
women  will  when  combative,  and  accepted  the 
challenge. 

Out  came  Whitman's  long  lead-pencil  and  mathe- 
matical tables,  and  Tom  brought  forth  a  dilapidated 
note-book.  Whitman's  omnipresent  tape-measure 
on  the  end  of  a  stick  showed  the  height  of  the  pillar 
above  the  terrace  to  be  fifteen  feet.  How  long 
would  it  take  the  shadow  to  block  a  doorway  forty- 
nine  feet  distant?  This  was  child's  play  for  a 

76 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

Vassar  girl.  Find  the  angle  which  the  sun  made 
with  the  summit  of  the  pillar ;  divide  by  ninety 
degrees,  and  multiply  the  number  of  hours  between 
noon  and  sunset  by  this  proper  fraction.  Now  the 
sun  was  setting  at  forty  minutes  past  five  to-night ;  so 
there  were  all  the  data. 

"Don't  forget  the  refraction,"  said  Whitman, 
with  a  laugh.  Now  refraction  would  have  altered 
the  result  some  three  minutes,  but  Miss  Ethel  was 
thrown  into  consternation ;  for  all  she  knew,  it  might 
make  the  difference  of  an  hour.  She  bit  thoughtfully 
at  the  pencil,  and  the  point  broke.  Whitman  shar- 
pened it  for  her.  Just  then  she  saw  a  table  of  re- 
fraction coefficients ;  thank  Heaven,  she  knew  how 
to  use  them  !  It  was  all  on  page  twenty-seven  ;  she 
remembered  it  all  by  heart.  The  amount  of  mathe- 
matics a  young  lady  can  get  by  rote  is  amazing.  She 
uttered  a  sigh  of  relief;  she  realized  now  how 
frightened  she  had  been,  for  the  figures  gyrated  in  all 
directions,  and  ciphers  and  decimal  points  kept  dis- 
appearing ;  she  must  be  careful,  or  she  would  get 
something  down  wrong.  Whitman  should  never 
know  how  near  he  had  come  to  catching  her,  and 
the  mathematical  reputation  of  her  sex  was  preserved 
in  its  integrity,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

There,  the  problem  was  done;  at  5.01  P.M., 
precisely,  the  shadow  would  reach  the  doorway. 
Tom  was  to  allow  five  minutes  lee-way,  and  come 
out  at  4.56. 

As  it  came  on  toward  three  o'clock,  they  strolled 
up  to  the  terrace.  The  sun  did  not  strike  the  rock 
so  blindingly  now,  and  they  started,  as  they  saw  on 
the  lintel  of  the  door,  the  bloody  imprint  of  a  human 

77 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

hand.  But  it  was  only  that  strange  symbol  puzzle 
of  the  antiquarian,  which  peers  out  from  tangled 
underbrush  and  yawning  cavern  throughout  the  land 
of  the  ancient  Aztec. 

"  I  shall  stay  my  whole  time,"  declared  Tom,  as 
he  went  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  at  the  en- 
trance ;  and  they  could  hear  him  remonstrating  with 
the  narrow  passage  till  his  voice  was  lost  in  the 
distance. 

Two  hours  to  while  away  in  that  graveyard  of 
the  centuries.  It  was  very  quiet,  and  even  the  lap- 
ping of  the  lake  against  the  stones  was  no  longer 
discernible.  The  silence  was  oppressive,  and  Whit- 
man proposed  a  ride  in  the  woods.  A  pink  haze 
rose  from  a  neighboring  swamp,  and,  as  the  sun  sank 
lower  and  lower,  the  profound  silence,  as  of  a  tomb, 
grew  more  and  more  depressing.  At  last,  to  break 
the  spell,  Whitman  ventured  to  recite  the  first  lines 
of  Shelley's  "  Naples,"  — 

«  I  stood  within  the  city  disinterred, 
And  heard  the  autumnal  leaves  like  light  foot-falls 
Of  spirits,  passing  through  the  streets.** 

Ethel  looked  at  him  queerly,  as  if,  perhaps,  he 
were  something  more  than  a  calculating  machine, 
after  all. 

It  was  her  turn,  now,  to  relieve  the  monotony  : 
"  By  the  way,  what  do  you  think  of  that  for  trigo- 
nometry ?  "  and  she  gayly  handed  him  the  paper  con- 
taining her  computations  of  the  afternoon.  He 
thought  she  seemed  a  little  ill  at  ease,  as  if  she  began 
to  doubt  her  work,  in  the  awesome  quiet  of  the 
woods. 

78 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

He  smiled,  and  glanced  at  the  figures  carelessly, 
then  started,  and  began  to  figure  rapidly.  Silence, 
deep  and  unbroken. 

"  Well,  what 's  the  matter,  sir  ?  "  she  broke  in, 
impatiently. 

"  Why,  the  refraction  coefficient  of  vacuum  to 
air  is  1.00029,  not  1.0294,  an(^  7OU  bring  the  answer 
out  twenty-six  minutes  too  high.  Taking  out  the 
five  minutes,  Tom  will  come  out  twenty-one  minutes 
too  late." 

They  turned  their  horses'  heads,  he  with  knitted 
brow,  she  with  ashen  face,  and  the  rapid  hoof-beats 
were  not  too  quick  to  be  a  threnody  in  their  ears. 

Suddenly  he  reined  up  with  a  loud  laugh.  "  Fools 
—  er  —  excuse  me,  I  am  —  what  harm  will  it  do  if  he 
does  cross  the  shadow  ?  There  we  were  taking  it 
for  granted  that  the  priesthood  still  existed  ;  it  must 
have  been  this  devilish  silence." 

The  color  came  back  to  her  face,  and  she  laughed 
a  little. 

They  rode  out  upon  the  plateau ;  it  was  4.40,  and 
the  shadow  must  be  well  across  the  opening.  And 
then  Whitman  leaped  half  out  of  his  saddle,  and  gave 
a  choking  cry  ;  while  his  companion  drooped  forward 
on  the  horse's  neck,  and  the  world  swam  round  and 
round  and  round. 

On  the  summit  of  the  temple,  clad  in  Aztec 
garb,  stood  a  white-haired  priest,  and  six  others, 
armed  with  the  iztli  knife,  clustered  around  the 
doorway. 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands  to  her  face  and  burst 
into  tears,  crying  that  she  had  killed  her  cousin,  and 
all  for  pride,  and  that  she  knew  nothing  about  mathe- 

79 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

matics  at  all.  She  seemed  scarcely  able  to  sit  on  her 
horse. 

Whitman  only  stared  blankly  before  him.  So  the 
old  priesthood  was  not  all  gone.  After  all,  it  was 
not  so  strange  in  that  great  unknown  peninsula. 

"  Why  don't  you  save  him  ?  "  cried  Ethel ;  and 
there  was  a  fine  light  in  her  eyes,  and  her  hands 
were  clenched  now.  Whitman  felt  that  any  other 
girl  would  have  fainted  long  ago,  and  a  wave  of 
admiration  swept  over  him. 

"  Oh,  if  you  were  only  a  man,  and  not  a  fossil " 
—  it  sounded  ludicrous  at  such  a  time  —  "I  am 
going  up  myself.  Poor  old  Tom ! " 

He  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  seize  her  bridle- 
rein.  Parabolas,  hyperbolas,  —  what  not  darted 
througti  his  head,  poor  aids  at  such  a  time.  After 
all,  calculus  was  a  small  thing  to  know  when  human 
life  hung  in  the  balance  and  quick  wit  might  tip  the 
scale.  He  knew  now  that  the  good  opinion  of  this 
young  lady  was  not  so  undesirable.  He  would  give 
a  good  deal  for  it  at  this  moment. 

"  And  can't  you  save  him  ? "  she  cried  in  piteous 
tones. 

He  was  thinking  clearly  now,  at  any  rate :  the 
water,  the  priests,  and  the  shadow ;  the  shadow,  the 
priests,  and  the  water ;  which  could  be  eliminated 
from  that  network  of  death  ? 

He  leaped  with  delight  as  a  thought  dawned  on 
him,  and  he  was  never  prouder  in  his  life  than  when 
he  wheeled  on  the  shivering  girl.  "  I  can ! "  he 
said,  while  his  eyes  danced  with  that  battle-fire  which 
lurks  in  every  true  man,  —  "  but  you  must  go  home." 

She  looked  at  him  with  rebellious  eyes;  but  he 
80 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

gazed  steadily  back,  and  it  was  the  man  now  and  not 
the  mathematician.  She  turned  her  horse,  with  never 
a  word,  and  rode  off,  looking  back  only  once  with 
wistful  glance  —  subdued,  yet  perhaps  subduer. 

Silence  again,  and  the  dreamy  air ;  fleeting  shadows 
and  the  peace  of  the  sleeping  woods  !  But  it  was  a 
time  for  most  vigorous,  action.  That  shadow  could 
be  lifted  in  just  one  way.  The  stone  must  go.  The 
shadow  gone,  the  scrupulous  priests  could  no  longer 
claim  their  victim.  It  would  be  a  complete  rescue. 
In  a  few  minutes  Tom  would  be  out  and  the  work 
must  be  fast.  The  pillar  was  larger  at  top  than 
bottom,  and  the  centre  of  gravity  high.  A  sharp 
blow  well  up  would  overthrow  it ;  for  the  ancient 
builders  used  no  cement.  He  was  ofF  his  horse  im- 
mediately and  running  toward  the  terrace.  The 
priests  looked  on  with  patient,  wondering  eyes.  They 
had  naught  to  do  with  him.  He  sprang  upon  the 
parapet  and  thus  gained  four  out  of  the  fifteen  feet ; 
eight  feet  high  can  a  tall  man  strike  with  effect,  and 
it  would  fall  out  just  right  here.  The  two-foot 
coping  seemed  narrower  than  the  dread  Al  Sirat,  but 
it  was  wide  enough  for  one  blow  of  a  desperate  man ; 
there  could  not  be  another.  Eight  feet  up  he  struck, 
and  in  a  glance  he  caught  the  faint  markings  on  the 
pillar.  Then  stone  and  sky  and  all  flashed  out  of 
sight  ;  and  the  water  flew  up  and  smote  him,  and 
seethed  and  bubbled  over  his  head.  He  saw  where 
the  great  foundations  of  the  temple-wall  sank  into 
the  bright  sand;  and  then  the  whole  calm  water- 
world  green  and  waving,  rose  before  his  eyes,  with 
startled  fish  and  long-bending  water-grasses. 

He  gained  the  shore  at  last,  with  his  left  wrist  all 
6  81 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

bent  in  a  Collie's  fracture,  and  dashed  away  the  water 
which  dripped  from  his  hair  into  his  eyes.  Then  he 
sat  down,  sick  to  vomiting,  and  looked  around.  The 
temple  was  pillarless  now  as  the  great  black  Kaaba  of 
Mecca;  but  he  hardly  noticed  that.  There,  strung 
along  the  water-terrace  and  looking  down  into  the 
silent  lake,  stood  the  seven  priests  of  the  great  war- 
god  ;  and,  as  they  stood,  they  chanted  the  Maya- 
death-song.  Death  and  the  Yucatan  Indian  are 
brethren,  and  the  latter  lives  only  to  long  for  some 
excuse  for  entering  into  that  last  fraternal  embrace. 
These  seven,  standing  over  the  total  wreck  of  the 
crumbling  faith,  looking  down  into  the  depths  whither 
the  light  of  their  eyes  had  gone,  had  nothing  to  live 
for,  and  it  was  a  joyful  farewell  to  those  long  deso- 
late halls.  The  Maya-death-song  is  the  weirdest 
strain  which  ever  touched  human  ear;  and  the 
hushed  voices  of  legions  of  departed  spirits  breathe  in 
the  not  inharmonious  notes.  Lengthening  shadows, 
and  the  cool  of  approaching  evening,  and  never  a 
cry !  The  water  whitened  with  foam,  and  the  bub- 
bles rose,  and  the  circles  eddied  to  the  lily-pads  off  in 
the  woods ;  but  the  brown  hands  clung  in  tiger-grip 
and  water  grasses  are  tenacious. 

Whitman  and  Tom  rode  home  in  the  dark,  and 
lights  were  twinkling  all  about  the  house  as  they 
came  up.  Some  one  said,  as  they  passed  through  the 
door,  "  You  're  not  a  fossil ; "  and  perhaps  it  was 
meant  for  Tom. 

There  were  two  who  walked  by  the  brook-side  at 
evening.  The  departure,  which  had  been  postponed 
a  day,  was  set  for  to-morrow. 

82 


The  Shadow  of  the  God 

It  was  Whitman  who  spoke,  and  the  width  of  the 
path  was  between  them.  He  was  earnest  enough 
now. 

"Miss  Ethel,"  —  they  always  called  her  that, — 
"  do  you  mean,  can  you  mean  that  I  may  have  any 
hope  of — er  —  well,  solving  your  problems  for  you 
—  er  —  all  the  rest  of  your  life  ?  " 

He  waited  a  long  time. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  need  some  one  after  yes- 
terday," she  said  faintly. 

"And  may  I  be  that  one  ? " 

The  universe  stood  still  to  hear  the  answer,  but 
only  a  final  letter  was  audible. 

After  all,  the  nineteenth  letter  of  the  English  alpha- 
bet has  its  uses. 


The  Cuirassier 


THE   CUIRASSIER 

WITH  a  hearty  dash  and  a  sabre's  clash, 
With  a  thousand  gleams  and  a  double  flash 
Of  the  brightened  steel  that  knows  no  fear, 
What  say  ye,  lads,  as  our  horses  rear  ? 
Who  is  there  equals  a  cuirassier  ? 

With  a  bold,  brave  air  and  a  winning  smile, 
With  a  stolen  kiss  that 's  won  by  guile, 
And  a  swagger  known  full  many  a  mile, 

What  say  ye,  lassies,  as  we  appear  ? 

Was  there  ever  the  like  of  a  cuirassier  ? 

A  flagon,  then,  of  the  rich,  red  wine, 
And  a  toast  for  the  foot,  the  men  of  the  line, 
To  the  sapper,  the  lancer,  the  cannoneer, 
But  first  to  the  man  who  owns  no  peer, 
Come,  drink  ye,  men,  u  To  the  cuirassier !  " 


Herb  o'  Grace 


HERB   O9   GRACE 

"You  must  wear  your  rue  with  a  difference." 

PERSONS  PRINCIPALLY  CONCERNED 

REV.  ERNEST  BELLAMY,  aged  40,  the  Rector  of  St.  Luke's 

in  the  Woods. 
CICELY,  aged  zo,  who  plays  "Lady  Bountiful"   under  the 

Rector's  direction  ;  and 
MIKE,  the  Rector's  terrier. 

THE  scene  is  Bellamy's  study  in  bachelor  dis- 
order. At  one  side  is  a  tea-table  and  opposite 
a  desk.  At  the  back  are  windows  and  a  glass  door. 
Through  these  one  gets  a  glimpse  of  a  garden  in  the 
full  sunshine  of  a  late  spring  afternoon.  At  the  desk 
sits  Bellamy  smoking  a  pipe  and  writing ;  near  him 
lies  Mike,  the  terrier. 

BELLAMY  (writing).  Finally,  my  brethren  (gazes 
out  of  the  window).  Finally,  my  brethren  (takes  out 
his  watch).  Why,  it 's  four  o'clock.  Bellamy,  my 
boy,  let  the  finally  go  to  —  some  other  time.  You 
deserve  a  rest.  (Walks  over  to  the  doorway.)  Ah, 
what  a  day  it  is !  These  spring  days  are  much  too 
fine  to  cage  oneself  up  in  a  room.  No  wonder  a 
man  can't  keep  his  mind  on  his  work.  No  wonder. 
Bah !  What 's  the  sense  of  lying  to  myself  this 
way  ?  When  I  know  that  the  only  reason  I  have 
loafed  away  the  best  part  of  a  Saturday  afternoon 
with  my  sermon  unwritten,  is  because  I  have  been 

8s 


Herb  o'  Grace 

much  more  intent  on  wondering  if  it  were  not  almost 
time  for  Cicely  to  come.  And  she  is  coming,  and 
very  soon  now !  Come  over  here,  Mike,  you  lazy 
beast !  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  (MiKE 
rises,  stretches  himself  lazily,  and  comes  over  to  BELLAMY, 
who  sits  down  in  a  big  chair  and  takes  him  on  his  knees.) 
Possibly  you  may  not  have  guessed  the  fact,  so  I  '11 
tell  you  —  whisper  —  (whispers  in  the  dog's  ear)  — 
Yes,  really  !  There  's  no  use  in  my  trying  to  hide 
it  or  disguise  or  lie  out  of  it.  Now,  if  you  could, 
my  worthy  friend,  I  suppose  you  'd  croak  and  ask 
me  —  very  naturally  —  what  a  middle-aged,  compara- 
tively sane  country  parson  had  to  do  with  a  thing  of 
that  sort,  and  I  would  n't  have  a  thing  to  say  in  my 
defence,  Mike,  not  a  thing.  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself,  and  yet  —  and  yet  I  was  never  so  happy  in 
my  life  before.  And  I  '11  tell  you  why,  and  it 's  a 
greater  secret  than  the  other  —  it 's  because  —  the 
conceited  idiot  that  I  am  —  I  think  she  cares  just  a 
little  bit  for  me  !  And,  something  more  —  and  this 
the  greatest  secret  of  all  —  I  'm  going  to  ask  her ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Why  don't  you  show 
some  signs  of  surprise  ?  Of  all  the  unsympathetic 
confidants !  There,  get  down  now,  for  I  must  put 
the  room  to  rights,  for  Cicely 's  coming.  Mike ! 
Cicely  's  coming  !  And  maybe  she  '11  make  tea  for 
us,  and  perhaps  —  But  we  must  wait  and  see.  (Be- 
gins to  clear  up  the  room.)  Now,  these  can  go  in  here 
(tucks  old  newspapers  behind  the  bookcase),  and  these 
in  here  (brushes  some  scraps  under  the  rug). 

Now,  I  wonder  if  there  are  any  burnt  matches  in 
the  teacups  this  time.  (Looks.)  No,  not  one —  Why, 
there  are  n't  any  flowers.  Cicely  won't  like  that ! 

86 


Herb  o'  Grace 

Never  mind,  we  can  go  out  and  get  some  together  — 
Look   at    that    picture    over   the    mantel  —  I    must 
straighten   that.     (Pulls   chair    up    and  stands   on   /V, 
straightening  the  picture.) 
(Enter  CICELY  with  a  basket  on  her  arm.     She  laughs.) 

CICELY  (from  the  doorway).  I  am  afraid  that  I  am 
interrupting  you,  Mr.  Belkmy. 

BELL,  (turning  and  seeing  her).  Oh,  there  you  are, 
Cicely,  come  in.  I  was  just  straightening  that  picture. 
I  had  been  writing,  but,  er  —  I  'm  resting  now.  (Gets 
down  from  chair.) 

Cic.  I  'm  glad  of  that.  You  must  get  so  tired. 
I  Jve  just  been  down  with  jelly  for  old  Mrs.  Tudor, 
and  am  on  my  way  to  Mrs.  Wilkins',  if  you  will  give 
me  those  copies  of  "The  Church  Militant"  you 
promised  her. 

BELL.  Certainly,  I  have  them  right  here ;  but  you 
have  not  got  to  go  this  very  minute,  have  you  ? 

Cic.  Oh,  no  !  Besides,  I  have  a  lot  of  things  to 
say  to  you  about  poor  Mrs.  Tudor. 

BELL,  (aside).  Mrs.  Tudor  be  bothered !  (To 
CICELY)  All  right,  but  meanwhile  won't  you  be 
charitable  to  me  and  make  me  some  tea  ? 

Cic.  That  will  be  doing  myself  a  kindness ;  I  love  to 
make  tea.  But  I  thought  old  Margaret  made  it  for  you  ! 

BELL.    She  does,  but  I  would  much  rather  have  you. 

Cic.    Of  course  I  will,  then. 

BELL.  That  will  be  splendid.  Here,  I  beg  your 
pardon !  let  me  relieve  you. 

Cic.  Thank  you  (giving  him  the  basket).  Be  very 
careful  not  to  drop  that ;  there 's  a  bowl  of  soup  and 
some  wine  in  it  for  Mrs.  Grimes  —  I  made  the  soup 
all  myself! 

87 


Herb  o*  Grace 

BELL,  (aside).   I  wish  I  were  Mrs.  Grimes ! 

Cic.  (giving  him  a  bunch  of  herbs).  These  are  for 
her  too  — 

BELL.   What  odd-looking  flowers  ! 

Cic.  They're  not  flowers  at  all,  they're  herbs. 
The  poor  old  thing  puts  great  faith  in  them,  so  I  got 
them  for  her.  She  wanted  sweet  marjoram  and  Johns- 
wort,  but  I  could  get  only  rue.  (She  sits  down  at  the 
tea-table  and  busies  herself  with  the  tea  things.) 

BELL.    Rue !     That 's  for  remembrance,  is  n't  it  ? 

Cic.  Oh,  you  're  thinking  of  rosemary.  Rue 
means  bitterness. 

BELL.    Sometimes  it 's  the  same  thing,  I  'm  afraid. 

Cic.  It  ought  not  to  be.  You  know  rue's  other 
name  is  herb  o'  grace.  This  water 's  fine  and  hot. 
Oh !  I  've  put  three  lumps  in  your  cup.  You  like 
sugar,  don't  you  ? 

BELL.  Yes,  oh  yes  5  (aside)  but  I  never  take  more 
than  one  lump. 

Cic.   And  cream  ?     (Pours  it  in.) 

BELL.  N — that  is,  yes!  \Aside)  I  hate  cream  in 
my  tea. 

Cic.    There  !     Now,  do  say  you  like  it. 

BELL,  (sipping).  Delicious  !  Quite  the  best  I  ever 
tasted. 

Cic.  I  'm  so  glad.  Now  some  for  myself —  Here, 
Mike,  here  's  a  lump  of  sugar  for  you.  There,  sir !  — 
The  last  time  I  made  tea  for  you  you  kept  your  tobacco 
in  the  tea-caddy.  Do  you  remember  ? 

BELL.  Yes,  it  was  a  capital  place  for  it.  But 
there  is  n't  any  there  now. 

Cic.  No,  everything  is  in  very  good  order.  Mar- 
garet takes  good  care  of  you,  I  think. 

88 


Herb  o'  Grace 

BELL.  (Indifferently).  Oh  yes,  she  does  everything 
well  enough. 

Cic.  Mr.  Bellamy,  you  are  n't  half  grateful  enough. 
For  my  part,  I  think  Margaret  does  everything  for 
your  comfort. 

BELL.  She  tries  to ;  but  there  is  so  much  a  servant 
can't  do,  after  all,  Miss  Cicely. 

Cic.  How  odd  it  sounds  to  have  you  say  u  Miss  " 
to  me  !  I  wish  you  would  n't.  Why,  you  've  called 
me  Cicely  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  I  should 
no  more  think  of  having  you  call  me  "  Miss  "  than  I 
should  of  calling  you  Ernest.  Well,  Mr.  Bellamy, 
I  will  give  some  advice,  may  I  ?  The  only  thing  for 
you  to  do  is  to  find  a  wife. 

BELL.  I  'm  afraid  it  is  easier  to  find  her  than  to 
win  her. 

Cic.  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  I  assure  you,  girls 
aren't  so  foolish  as  you  seem  to  think. 

BELL.  But  they  would  be  wise  in  this  case.  Why, 
what  would  they  have  to  do  with  an  old  man  like 
me  ? 

Cic.  But  you  are  n't  old,  at  least  not  very.  I  'm 
sure  you  don't  look  as  old  as  papa  —  and  even  if — 
you  were  —  old  — 

BELL.  Well,  what  ?  Ah,  but  put  yourself  in  her 
place.  Suppose  I  should  come  to  you,  Cicely,  and 
say,  "Here  I  am  in  autumn,  you  in  mid-spring. 
Will  you  take  what  there  is  left  of  my  life,  worn 
and  old,  and  give  me  yours,  fresh  and  sweet  and  un- 
broken, in  exchange  —  for  I  love  you ;  will  you  take 
my  heart,  that  has  grown  tired  with  aching  for  lost 
hope,  and  weary  with  yearning  for  impossible  ideals, 
and  give  me  yours,  tremulous  with  new  life,  because 

89 


Herb  o'  Grace 

I  love  you?"  Suppose  I  should  ask  you,  Cicely, 
what  would  you  say  ? 

The  chimes  strike  the  hour. 

Cic.  I  think,  Mr.  Bellamy,  I  would  say  "  yes,"  if 
I  loved  you.  (She  rises.)  But  I  must  go  now.  I 
promised  Bob  I  would  come  at  five,  and  he 's  waiting 
for  me. 

BELL.    Bob  ?     What,  has  Bob  come  back  ? 

Cic.  Yes,  he  came  yesterday.  (She  turns  away  shyly.) 
And  oh,  Mr.  Bellamy,  perhaps  it  is  too  soon  to  tell 
any  one,  but  I  feel  I  must  tell  you,  you  have  been  so 
kind  to  me  always  and  are  such  a  friend  of  papa's. 
Bob  says  he  does  care  for  me,  and  I  —  I  — 

BELL.  I  understand.  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me 
so  soon,  Cicely,  for  I  would  want  to  be  one  of  the  first 
to  wish  you  happiness.  And  I  do,  my  dear,  with  all 
my  heart. 

Cic.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Bellamy  !  And  now,  about 
that  foolish  girl.  If  you  will  only  send  her  home, 
well,  I  think  I  can  show  her  what  a  mistake  she  is 
making. 

BELL.  I  don't  believe  you  will  have  to  attempt  as 
much  as  that.  We  're  better  off  as  bachelors,  Mike 
and  I.  I  am  afraid  that  we  've  gotten  selfish  and 
settled  and  could  not  adapt  ourselves  to  new  ways 
easily.  But  you  will  come  to  make  tea  for  us 
sometimes  ?  Just  as  you  have  to-day,  so  we  sha'n't 
forget  our  manners  ?  And  you  '11  think  of  us  now 
and  then,  won't  you  ?  For  we  sha'n't  forget  you. 

Cic.    Indeed,  indeed,  I  will. 

BELL.  Thank  you.  But  I  am  keeping  you,  and  I 
have  no  right  to  do  that — now,  you  know  ! 

Cic.  Yes,  I  must  run  along.  There  are  "  The 
90 


Herb  o'  Grace 

Church  Militants."     Good-by,  Mr.  Bellamy.     The 
tea  was  very  nice  ! 

BELL.  Good-by,  Cicely  !  (He  puts  his  hand  softly 
on  her  hair.)  Good-by,  and  God  bless  and  keep  you 
—  always ! 

Cicely  goes  out. 

Bellamy  stands  in  the  doorway  looking  after  her. 
He  smiles,  and  bows,  and  says  good-by.  The  lights 
in  the  garden  die  away.  The  sound  of  an  organ 
playing  the  Intermezzo  comes  as  from  a  distance. 

BELL,  (at  the  door).  Good-by  !  (He  comes  in  and 
sits  in  the  big  chair.}  Dear  little  Cicely  !  I  wonder 
if  she  knows,  strolling  under  the  apple  blossoms  with 
her  lover,  that  she  has  just  killed  youth  and  heaven 
for  some  one.  No.  She  cannot  know,  and  she 
must  never  know.  It  would  break  her  tender  little 
heart.  And  after  all,  why  should  she  ?  It  was  my 
fault,  in  mistaking  friendliness,  perhaps  a  little  pity  — ' 
for  —  something  more.  That's  what  we  get  for 
wanting  too  much,  Mike,  my  boy.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  taken  your  advice.  It  was  foolish  for  me 
even  to  dream  that  she  could  ever  care  for  me  in  that 
way !  Foolish !  it  was  mad !  And  yet  if  it  only 
could  have  been  !  Dear  God,  I  can't  think  of  that ! 
I  must  not  think  of  it !  only  perhaps,  now  and  then, 
of  what  was,  never  what  might  have  been  !  (A pause.} 
Well,  Mike,  you  won't  go  back  on  me,  will  you,  old 
boy  ?  No,  you  are  faithful  from  the  end  of  that 
Irish  nose  of  yours  to  the  tip  of  your  stubby  tail ! 
And  we  '11  just  have  to  settle  down  to  the  old  order 
of  things,  and  must  not  think  of  afternoon  tea  and 
some  one  pretty  and  dainty  to  be  waiting  for  us  when 
we  come  home  tired  —  and  —  things  of  that  sort  — 

91 


Herb  o'  Grace 

any  more.  They  're  not  for  the  likes  of  you  and  me. 
But  we  must  just  make  up  our  minds  to  having  the 
house  as  quiet  and  lonely  as  it  used  to  be,  and  set 
ourselves  to  doing  our  duty  and  trying  to  enjoy  it  — 
and  —  that  reminds  me,  I  might  begin  by  writing  the 
"finally  "  —  that  I  postponed.  (As  he  goes  to  his  desk^ 
he  sees  a  sprig  of  rue  on  the  floor.  He  picks  it  up.) 
Cicely  must  have  dropped  it.  "There's  rue  for 
you  "  —  No,  not  that.  I  like  its  other  name  better 
—  Herb  o'  Grace !  (He  raises  it  to  his  lips^  and  the 
curtain  falls.) 


92 


At  Saint  Fortun6 


AT  SAINT  FORTUNE 

AT  old  Saint  Fortune"  the  sea 
Creeps  up  to  clasp  the  gray  old  town, 
The  dreaming  skies  bend  tenderly 
And  round  about  stretch  dune  and  down. 

The  wind-racked  houses  on  the  shore 
With  dim  old  eyes  gaze  'cross  the  bay, 
For  gallant  ships  that  come  no  more 
Again  to  old  Saint  Fortune. 

With  marigolds  the  gardens  gleam, 
And  in  the  doors,  when  work  is  done, 
Stand  girls  with  happy  eyes  a-dream, 
And  old  men  dozing  in  the  sun. 

Great  peace  broods  o'er  Saint  Fortune, 
Born  of  the  sunshine  and  the  sea,' 
From  time  far  off  and  long  dead  day 
That  was  and  nevermore  shall  be. 

And  when  the  waiting  west  is  bright 
With  all  the  sunset's  gleam  and  glow, 
And  safely  settled  for  the  night, 
The  town  sleeps,  then  the  sea  croons  low : 

<l  Be  not  downcast,  O  hearts  ashore, 
When  waves  mount  high  and  great  winds  chafe, 
For  all  thy  sons  who  come  no  more, 
Deep  in  my  heart  are  waiting  safe !  " 
93 


Fable 


FABLE 

HERE  and  there  through  the  wheat  glowed  the 
red  poppy  blossoms,  like  great  passionate, 
palpitating  stars  in  a  pale  green,  unfeeling  sky. 

The  winds  swept  over  the  field,  and  the  wheat- 
stalks  bowed  humbly  before  them.  But  of  the  pop- 
pies no  such  humility  was  required  ;  the  winds  rather 
played  about  them,  alternately  teasing  and  caressing 
them,  and  laughing  softly  at  the  pretty  coquetry  of 
their  petulance. 

Of  one  blood-red  bloom,  deeper  in  color  and  finer 
in  texture,  perhaps,  than  its  fellows,  the  winds  never 
tired;  nor  indeed  was  it  averse  to  their  flattering 
attentions. 

Finally,  a  stolid  burgher  wheat-stalk  felt  it  its  duty 
to  interpose  and  to  expostulate  with  the  thoughtless 
flower  upon  the  unseemliness  of  its  conduct. 

"  Have  you  never  considered,"  it  began,  "  what 
a  useless  thing  you  are?  What  right  have  you  to 
be  happy  ?  Do  you  not  see  all  about  you  these 
thousands  of  industrious  wheat-stalks,  each  of  whom, 
like  myself,  is  at  work  creating  and  bringing  to 
maturity  a  fruit  which  is  some  day  to  be  of  the 
greatest  value  to  the  world  ?  You  are  an  intruder 
here  in  this  busy  community.  We  shall  be  grain 
some  day  j  is  that  not  a  noble  ambition  ?  And  you, 
what  can  you  hope  for  or  aspire  to  ?  You  flaunt 
and  prink  yourself  for  a  time  before  every  coxcomb 

94 


Fable 

breeze,  and  then  you  die  and  are  forgotten;  that  is 
your  fate." 

The  flower  shrank  under  the  bitterness  of  the  re- 
proof. Mutely  it  protested  against  all  that  the  wheat- 
stalk  had  said,  but  what  manner  of  defence  was  it 
possible  to  make  ?  Uselessness  has  no  argument 
against  the  iron  logic  of  utility.  Henceforth  the 
breezes  wooed  in  vain. 

As  the  July  sun  sank  behind  the  horizon,  a  youth 
and  a  maiden  walked  together  through  the  field,  part- 
ing the  wheat.  The  youth  stooped,  and  picking  the 
sorrowing  poppy,  gave  it  to  his  companion.  As  the 
girPs  fingers  pressed  its  stem,  the  flower  gave  one 
timid  glance  upward,  and  saw  in  the  face  above  it  a 
color  scarcely  less  deep  than  its  own.  The  poppy 
died  on  the  breast  of  the  girl,  forgetting  entirely  in 
its  rapture  the  wheat-stalk's  bitter  words. 

The  wheat-stalk  must  needs  moralize  on  the  event, 
remarking  sarcastically  to  a  neighbor,  that  the  poppy 
had  come  to  a  pretty  end.  "  How  far,"  it  inquired, 
"  would  a  thousand  such  go  toward  feeding  one  hungry 
child  ?  " 

The  wheat-stalk  was  a  faithful  servant,  and  of  a 
surety  did  not  lack  its  reward. 


95 


From  Heloise  to  Abelard 


FROM  HfiLOISE  TO  ABELARD 

IN  the  dim  church  at  Vesper-time  last  night, 
Amid  the  surge  of  canticle  and  prayer 
And  ecstasies  of  adoration,  there 
With  the  great  cross  high  in  the  tapers'  light, 
I  crouched  where  all  the  nuns  knelt,  hushed  and  white. 
Those  still,  pure  women  !     Have  they  aught  to  share 
With  hearts  that  yearn,  and  mad  desires  that  dare 
To  barter  Heaven  for  earthly  touch  and  sight? 

Across  the  singing  came  a  dream  to  me  — 
Lo,  it  was  April  and  we  twain  a-stray 
Down  drifted  orchard-paths  in  that  old  place 
My  heart  has  folded  safe  in  memory. 
Do  you  remember,  Dear,  that  sweet  spring  day  ? 
Ah,  pity,  Lord  !     Let  me  forget  its  grace ! 


Applied  Mathematics 


APPLIED   MATHEMATICS 

/TAKE  court  mathematician's  pupil  was  sitting 
dejectedly  on  a  rustic  seat  in  the  beautiful 
gardens  which  surrounded  the  royal  palace  of 
Nunvalia.  But  it  would  be  an  error  to  call  him 
the  pupil  of  the  court  mathematician,  for  such  he  was 
no  longer;  neither  was  he,  as  a  few  short  hours 
before,  the  accepted  suitor  of  Angelina,  the  court 
mathematician's  lovely  daughter :  hence  the  cause  of 
his  woe. 

This  is  how  it  all  happened.  The  court  mathe- 
matician and  his  pupil  had  been  working  together 
on  a  mathematical  problem  of  huge  dimensions,  and 
they  had  differed  as  to  the  result  of  one  of  their 
computations.  It  was  a  small  point  indeed,  but 
when  professional  honor  is  involved  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  agreeing  to  disagree,  as  ordinary  people  may, 
even  on  a  very  insignificant  point. 

"  The  square  of  the  cube  root  of  the  logarithm  of 
the  sine  of  45°  is  1.9731,"  said  the  court  mathema- 
tician, firmly. 

"  The  square  of  the  cube  root  of  the  logarithm  of 
the  sine  of  45°  is  1.9732,"  replied  his  pupil,  with 
equal  decision. 

u  I  said  one  ten-thousandth,"  retorted  the  court 
mathematician,  warmly. 

**  Pardon  me,  two  ten-thousandths,"  answered  the 
pupil. 

7  97 


Applied  Mathematics 

The  court  mathematician  glared  at  his  pupil,  and 
his  pupil  glared  back  in  return. 

u  One,"  almost  shouted  the  court  mathematician ; 
"  and  what  is  more,  I  command  you  not  to  contra- 
dict me." 

His  pupil  was  silent,  but  held  up  two  fingers. 

I  will  not  describe  how  the  anger  of  the  court 
mathematician  became  a  passion,  and  the  passion  a 
fury,  and  how  in  the  latter  state  he  ordered  his  pupil 
to  leave  the  house  and  never  dare  to  come  there 
again  ;  nor  how  he  remained  obdurate  in  his  decision, 
in  spite  of  all  the  supplications  of  his  daughter,  who 
even  went  so  far  as  to  throw  herself  on  the  floor 
and  clasp  his  unrelenting  knees. 

So  now  Ferdinand  —  such  was  the  name  of  the 
court  mathematician's  pupil  that  was  —  sat  discon- 
solate and  sweetheartless  under  the  trees  of  the  royal 
gardens,  bemoaning  his  hard  fate;  naturally  he  fell 
into  figures  of  speech  suggested  by  his  early  training. 

"  Ah  !  she  is  the  locus  of  all  good  traits,"  he 
murmured  with  a  sigh.  "Yes,  her  life  is  the  curve 
toward  which  my  own  has  been  tending  from  the 
first.  Once  I  believed  mine  to  be  the  tangent  to 
hers  at  finite  distance ;  woe  is  me  that  I  should  find 
that  it  is  an  asymptote." 

While  Ferdinand  was  thus  complaining,  the  Prin- 
cess Elsa,  the  third  and  youngest  daughter  of  King 
Adolphus  of  Nunvalia,  who  was  strolling  idly  through 
the  royal  gardens,  chanced  to  come  that  way,  and 
hearing  the  young  man's  voice  came  a  bit  closer  and 
peered  through  the  shrubbery  that  surrounded  the 
rustic  seat,  to  see  from  whom  the  doleful  sounds 
were  coming. 


Applied  Mathematics 

The  required  course  in  mathematics  for  princesses 
in  Nunvalia  at  that  time  did  not  include  analytics, 
and  hence  the  Princess  Elsa  did  not  understand  a 
word  that  the  ex-pupil  had  uttered,  but  being  a 
woman  as  well  as  a  princess  she  was  able  to  interpret 
pretty  well  the  young  man's  sighs  and  woebegone 
countenance.  Now  the  princess  was  tender-hearted, 
and  a  bit  frolicsome  too ;  so  she  determined  to  address 
this  good-looking  young  man  and  inquire  the  cause 
of  his  grief;  which  she  did  accordingly. 

It  was  an  unwritten  law  at  the  court  of  Nunvalia 
that  no  man  should  express  love  for  another  woman 
in  the  presence  of  any  of  the  ladies  of  the  royal 
family ;  yet  for  all  this  Ferdinand  need  not  have 
answered  the  princess  just  as  he  did,  and  thereby 
cause  her  to  drop  her  eyes  to  the  ground ;  perhaps 
he  felt  just  a  bit  flattered  by  the  sympathy  of  a 
princess. 

That  night  the  Princess  Elsa  related  to  her  lady 
in  waiting  her  conversation  with  the  silly  youth  in 
the  garden,  and  both  mistress  and  maid  laughed 
heartily  over  the  story.  Then  they  talked  together 
in  low  voices  —  and  if  I  should  say  what  they  said, 
it  would  spoil  my  story. 

But  if  the  princess  thought  of  Ferdinand  that 
evening,  no  vestige  of  remembrance  of  the  princess 
remained  in  the  mind  of  the  court  mathematician's 
ex-pupil ;  for  it  was  on  that  evening  that  he  had 
arranged  a  secret  meeting  with  his  Angelina,  at  an 
hour  when  the  court  mathematician  would  be  sure  to 
be  lost  in  his  calculations.  And  at  the  same  time  that 
the  playful  princess  and  her  maid  were  maliciously 
plotting  in  the  royal  palace,  out  under  the  trees  before 

99 


Applied  Mathematics 

the  court  mathematician's  house  the  two  lovers  were 
also  contriving  a  plot  from  which,  to  judge  from  the 
beatific  faces  that  the  moonlight  revealed,  they  ex- 
pected the  happiest  outcome. 

"  Can  you  love  me  enough  for  that  ?  "  asked  the 
court  mathematician's  ex-pupil  anxiously,  as  the 
time  drew  near  when  they  must  leave  each  other. 

"  Yes,  when  you  have  won  the  ruby,"  answered 
Angelina,  prudently. 

"  Ah,  where  is  the  paper  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

In  answer  the  girl  took  from  her  bosom  a  bit  of 
paper  and  handed  it  to  him.  They  read  it  together 
in  the  moonlight. 

"  And  one  ten-thousandth,"  murmured  Angelina, 
laughingly. 

u  Two,  though,"  the  ex-pupil  answered  doggedly. 

"For  my  sake,  one,"  she  pleaded,  putting  her 
arms  about  his  neck. 

"  Yes,  for  our  sakes,  one ; "  and  he  kissed  her. 

It  will  be  necessary  before  going  any  further  to 
make  a  digression  and  speak  of  certain  affairs  of  state 
in  the  kingdom  of  Nunvalia.  King  Adolphus  of 
Nunvalia,  like  many  another  king,  had  found  it 
frequently  very  difficult  to  collect  the  taxes  due  him 
from  his  subjects.  He  had  tried  imprisonment  and 
even  beheading  as  punishments  for  non-payment,  but 
for  all  that  many  of  his  people  had  continued  to 
spend  all  their  money  just  before  the  tax-collector 
came  to  them,  and  then  what  was  to  be  done  ? 

In  this  dilemma  the  king  called  to  him  his  court 
economist  and  asked  his  advice.  As  a  result,  two 
years  later  there  appeared  an  exhaustive  treatise  on 
100 


Applied  Mathematics 

»•      *          '     '  >     ,'      i   '  ,o    »' 

u  Taxation "  in  fourteen  volumes,  written  by  the 
court  economist,  copies  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen 
among  the  Nunvalian  archives.  The  gist  of  the 
treatise  was  as  follows  :  First,  that  it  is  very  hard  to 
take  money  out  of  a  man's  pocket  when  the  man  is 
looking  —  and  especially  when  there  is  none  there. 
"  This,"  wrote  the  court  economist, "  is  the  difficulty 
in  the  system  prevailing  in  Nunvalia."  Second,  it 
is  easier  to  take  money  from  a  man's  pocket  when 
he  is  not  looking.  And  third,  it  is  easier  still  to  do 
so  when  one  makes  a  pretence  of  giving  something 
in  return. 

«  What  pretence  would  you  suggest  ? "  asked  the 
king  when  the  court  economist  had  explained  to  him 
what  there  was  in  his  fourteen  volumes  and  what  it 
meant. 

"  Theoretically,"  replied  the  court  economist,  cau- 
tiously, "  it  is  not  possible  to  get  something  in  return 
for  nothing;  but  considering  that  constant  element 
in  human  nature  which,  for  want  of  a  better  term, 
may  be  called  the  'eternally  gullible,'  I  think  the 
result  could  be  obtained  approximately  by  means  of  a 
lottery." 

But  King  Adolphus  objected  to  a  lottery.  <c  The 
court  moral  and  social  philosopher,"  he  said,  "tells 
me  that  lotteries  tend  to  cause  a  deterioration  in 
public  morality,  and  that  is  a  thing  I  should  like  to 
avoid  in  the  kingdom  of  Nunvalia." 

But  then  a  brilliant  idea  occurred  to  him.  "I 
have  it,"  he  cried.  "  I  will  raise  my  taxes  by  means 
of  a  guessing  game,  the  moral  objections  to  which 
will  be  more  than  balanced  by  the  educational  advan- 
tages. This  year  I  will  have  my  people  guess  how 
zoz 


Applied  Mathematics 


many  beans  there  are  in  a  bottle "  (this  game  was 
then  very  popular  in  Nunvalia,)  "  each  citizen  paying 
so  much  for  the  privilege  of  guessing,  and  the  one 
coming  the  nearest  to  the  correct  number  receiving 
the  valuable  prize  which  I  shall  offer.  Every  year  I 
shall  have  a  new  problem  devised,  and  thus  make 
revenue  raising  in  my  kingdom  a  great  instrument 
for  popular  education." 

The  scheme  was  tried,  and  worked  to  perfection. 
The  populace,  who  had  heard  what  the  problem  was 
to  be,  got  bottles  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  and  practised 
estimating  their  contents  —  measured  in  beans  —  until 
they  became  so  accurate  that  when  it  came  to  the 
contest  the  guessing  was  very  close  indeed,  and  the 
very  number  guessed  in  fact,  it  being  11,989*^,  one 
bean  having  been  split  and  the  other  half  lost  in  the 
process  of  filling  the  jar. 

This  happened  several  years  before  the  events  of 
our  story,  and  so  pleased  was  King  Adolphus  with 
the  results  of  his  scheme  that  he  continued  it  year 
after  year.  This  particular  year  it  was  announced 
that  a  mathematical  problem  would  be  given  in  the 
annual  contest ;  whereupon,  to  the  king's  great  joy, 
all  his  people  began  to  hunt  up  and  study  their  old 
arithmetics.  Furthermore  the  king  announced  that 
the  prize  would  be  nothing  less  than  the  third  finest 
jewel  of  his  crown,  which,  as  was  understood  by  all, 
was  a  very  beautiful  ruby  of  great  size  and  value. 

The  problem  was  to  be  devised  by  the  court  math- 
ematician. "  It  will  give  him  something  to  do  at 
last,"  said  the  king,  delightedly.  Heretofore  the 
court  mathematician's  sole  duty  had  been  to  ride  in 
state  processions,  he  being  allowed  at  other  times  to 

102 


Applied  Mathematics 

go  triangulating  among  the  stars  at  will,  in  the  hope 
that  in  this  way  the  stars  might  be  discovered  to  be 
at  some  time  of  importance  to  the  kingdom  of 
Nunvalia. 

Now  on  the  paper  which  Angelina  had  given  her 
lover  was  written  the  problem  whose  correct  solution 
meant  the  possession  of  the  ruby,  itself  a  princely 
fortune. 

The  day  of  the  contest  came  at  last,  and  a  vast 
multitude  was  assembled  in  the  public  square  of  the 
capital,  some  to  try  for  the  prize,  others  as  mere 
onlookers.  A  throne  had  been  raised  at  one  side 
of  the  square  for  the  king,  who  was  to  preside  in 
person ;  and  around  him  were  seats  where,  nearest  to 
the  king,  sat  the  members  of  the  royal  family,  and 
on  either  side  of  these  the  courtiers  with  their  wives 
and  daughters. 

The  king  arose  and  called  the  first  name  on  his 
list.  A  young  man  pale  with  the  studying  of  all  the 
old  arithmetic  books  he  could  find,  stepped  forward 
before  the  throne.  Then  the  king  read  slowly  the 
following : 

"  What  is  the  square  of  the  cube  root  of  the  loga- 
rithm of  the  sine  01*45°  -?  " 

The  pale  young  man  looked  paler  still  and  trembled 
visibly.  He  knew  what  a  square  was ;  he  thought 
he  knew  what  a  cube  root  was ;  he  remembered 
indistinctly  having  heard  once  of  a  logarithm ;  but  a 
sine —  "Twenty-five,"  he  cried  in  desperation. 

"  Wrong,"  answered  the  king  sternly,  and  called 
upon  the  next  contestant. 

The  next  man  knew  nothing  about  any  of  these 
103 


Applied  Mathematics 

terms,  but  thinking  that  the  pale  youth  was  apt  to 
know  a  little  more  than  he,  said  twenty-six.  The 
next  answered  twenty-four,  and  the  fourth,  seeing  that 
his  predecessors  were  evidently  not  on  the  track  at 
all,  guessed  one  thousand.  And  thus  it  went  for  three 
long  weary  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  the  king 
and  the  spectators  were  showing  evident  signs  of 
weariness.  — 

At  last  the  king  called  the  name  of  the  court 
mathematician's  ex-pupil. 

Just  a  moment  before  this,  however,  a  messenger 
in  the  royal  livery,  who  had  been  sent  the  previous 
day  to  search  for  a  young  man  answering  to  the 
description  of  the  court  mathematician's  ex-pupil, 
and  who  had  forgotten  all  about  his  commission 
until  a  few  minutes  before,  hastened  up  to  the  young 
man  and  gave  him  a  note  written  on  delicate,  violet- 
scented  paper.  Ferdinand  had  just  glanced  at  it 
when  he  heard  his  name  called.  This  is  what  he 
had  read : — 

Stupid  youth,  do  you  not  understand  what  is  meant  by  the 
third  finest  jewel  in  King  Adolphus*  crown  ?  What  else 
but  his  third  daughter,  the  most  unfortunate  Elsa  ?  If  the 
words  you  spoke  in  the  garden  were  not  utterly  false,  you 
will  be  at  the  little  postern  gate  on  the  east  wing  of  the 
palace  to-night  at  midnight.  E. 

Ferdinand,  dazzled  by  the  contents  of  the  note, 
stepped  forward  mechanically,  and  made  the  custom- 
ary obeisance  before  the  throne.  The  time  of  the 
meeting  proposed  by  Princess  Elsa  had  passed,  but  he 
did  not  think  of  that.  He  only  thought  of  the 
power  he  had  to  gain  the  prize  that  King  Adolphus 
104 


Applied  Mathematics 

had  offered.  To  be  the  husband  of  a  princess,  son- 
in-law  of  a  king — this  lay  in  his  power!  Then 
he  throught  of  Angelina  and  how  she  had  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  he  thanked  the  princess  for 
her  information. 

He  was  brought  to  his  senses  by  hearing  the  wearied 
voice  of  King  Adolphus,  who  was  thoroughly  tired 
of  the  whole  proceeding  and  about  come  to  the  point 
of  telling  the  next  contestant  to  give  the  correct 
answer  or  be  beheaded,  droning  for  the  hundred  and 
fifty-fourth  time,  "  What  is  the  square  of  the  cube 
root  of  the  logarithm  of  the  sine  of  45°  ?" 

The  ex-pupil  of  the  court  mathematician  looked  at 
the  Princess  Elsa,  who,  all  unconscious  of  the  mischief 
she  was  causing,  returned  his  glance  with  a  well- 
affected  look  of  reproach  and  supplication. 

w  One  and  nine  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
thirty  —  "  He  paused  and  looked  at  Angelina,  whose 
soft  gray  eyes  were  fixed  intently  upon  him  ;  "  two 
ten-thousandths,"  he  finished  doggedly. 

a  Wrong  ! "  cried  the  king  angrily,  and  called  the 
next  name. 

u  One  and  nine  thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty- 
three  ten-thousandths,"  answered  the  next  man, 
shrewdly. 

u  Wrong  again,"  cried  the  king,  still  more  petu- 
lantly. "  You  did  n't  come  as  near  to  it  as  he  did." 

The  next  contestant  did  not  know  the  difference 
between  mathematics  and  geology,  yet,  strange  to  say, 
he  replied  without  hesitation,  u  One  and  nine  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  and  thirty-one  ten-thousandths." 

"  Right  at  last !  "  cried  the  king,  gleefully.  "  Kneel, 
my  friend,  and  receive  your  prize ; "  and  the  man 


Applied  Mathematics 

knelt  on  the  steps  of  the  throne,  while  the  wearied 
multitude  applauded  wildly. 

Now,  as  Ferdinand  knew,  the  successful  contestant 
was  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  wife  and  seven  chil- 
dren, and  he  smiled,  in  spite  of  the  bitterness  of  his 
disappointment,  to  think  of  the  disposition  he  would 
make  of  his  prize,  —  for  it  was  a  capital  offence  in 
Nunvalia  to  refuse  the  gift  of  the  king. 

Imagine  then  his  surprise  and  rage  when  he  saw 
in  King  Adolphus*  extended  hand  the  ruby. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  confounded.  Then  he 
pushed  his  way  through  the  throng,  and  throwing  him- 
self before  the  throne,  cried  that  he  had  a  boon  to  ask. 

"  State  it,"  said  the  king  good-natured lly,  and  with- 
drawing his  hand. 

"  Your  majesty,  I  dispute  the  computation  of  the 
court  mathematician,  and  maintain  that  the  square  of 
the  cube  root  of  the  logarithm  of  the  sine  of  45°  is 
1.9732." 

The  king  frowned. 

"  Listen,  your  highness,"  continued  Ferdinand. 
u  I  do  not  wish  to  regain  the  ruby.  But  I  love  the 
court  mathematician's  daughter.  Grant  that  if  I 
can  prove  him  in  error  he  shall  give  her  to  me  in 
marriage,  and  if  I  am  shown  to  be  wrong  I  promise 
to  pay  for  my  boldness  with  my  head." 

The  king  gladly  consented  to  this  proposal.  The 
prospect  of  enjoying  a  beheading,  a  luxury  which  his 
advanced  notions  of  the  function  of  a  king  had  not 
allowed  him  for  a  long  time,  appealed  very  strongly 
to  his  not  yet  entirely  civilized  and  moralized  nature. 
He  therefore  called  forth  the  court  mathematician,  and 
the  discussion  began. 

1 06 


Applied  Mathematics 

But  the  king  soon  repented  of  his  action.  For  he 
could  not  understand  a  word  which  either  disputant 
uttered  ;  nor  could  his  wise  men  nor  any  of  his  court 
any  better  than  he ;  neither  indeed  could  the  court 
mathematician  understand  his  pupil,  nor  on  the  other 
hand  could  the  pupil  understand  the  court  mathemati- 
cian ;  and  therefore  the  discussion  went  on  for  almost 
an  hour,  now  purely  argumentatively,  and  now  be- 
coming heated  almost  to  the  point  of  personal  recrim- 
ination and  blows,  and  now  again  subsiding  into  the 
persuasive ;  until  at  last  the  king,  being  able  to  stand 
it  no  longer,  jumped  to  his  feet  and  was  about  to 
cry,  "  To  the  block  with  both  of  them."  Just  then 
his  youngest  daughter,  the  Princess  Elsa,  laid  her 
hand  on  his  sleeve. 

Now  the  Princess  Elsa,  who  was  a  tender-hearted 
maid  in  spite  of  her  occasional  pranks,  had  seen  the 
mischief  that  she  had  unwittingly  done,  and  had  de- 
termined to  make  amends  for  it  if  possible. 

When  King  Adolphus  saw  her  standing  at  his  side, 
he  put  off  uttering  his  dire  command,  and  leaned 
over  to  hear  what  she  had  to  say.  Then  gradually 
the  stern  look  on  his  face  became  mollified,  and  bid- 
ding the  princess  be  seated,  he  thus  addressed  the 
court  mathematician  and  his  ex-pupil, — 

"  It  is  evident  that  this  point  cannot  be  settled  by 
dispute,  and  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  each  to  give 
away  a  little  to  the  other.  This  is  the  compromise 
which  the  Princess  Elsa,  my  daughter,  suggests,  and 
which  I  now  command  to  be  carried  out.  You " 
(addressing  the  ex-pupil)  "  shall  acknowledge  that  the 
square  of  the  cube  root  of  the  logarithm  of  the  sine 
of  45°  is  1.9731;  this  will  satisfy  the  court  mathe- 

107 


Applied  Mathematics 

matician,  and  being  a  young  man  you  ought  to  know 
that  you  must  be  wrong  anyway.  And  you  "  (address- 
ing the  court  mathematician)  u  shall  give  your  daugh- 
ter to  your  former  pupil ;  and  I  will  say  that  being 
an  old  man  you  should  have  known  better  than  to  try 
to  hinder  the  course  of  true  love.  Thus  will  we 
follow  our  old  maxim  which  says,  '  Honor  shall  be 
given  to  old  age,  and  to  the  youth  his  sweetheart.' 
And,"  added  the  enlightened  king  of  Nunvalia,  smil- 
ing, u  since  it  is  impossible  to  tell  just  what  is  the 
square  of  the  cube  root  of  the  logarithm  of  the  sine 
of  45°,  I  will  keep  the  ruby  myself,  and  have  it  reset 
in  my  crown." 

That  night,  as  Ferdinand  was  wending  his  way 
through  the  royal  gardens  toward  the  place  of  rendez- 
vous with  his  beloved,  he  was  stopped  by  a  man  who 
gave  into  his  hands  a  packet  and  then  hastened  away. 
Ferdinand  opened  the  packet,  and  within  found  a 
beautiful  little  casket  of  gold  and  mother-of-pearl,  and 
inside  the  casket  a  ruby,  —  none  other  than  the  one 
which  had  been  the  third  jewel  in  worth  in  the  crown 
of  the  king  of  Nunvalia.  And  he  found  in  the 
casket  also  a  little  bit  of  pasteboard,  upon  which  was 
written,  in  the  same  hand  as  was  the  note  he  had 
received  in  the  afternoon,  these  words  :  "  If  you  love 
a  girl,  look  upon  no  other,  serve  no  other,  trust  no 
other." 

The  ruby  the  ex-pupil  of  the  court  mathematician 
afterward  sold,  and  he  and  his  beautiful  wife  lived  on 
the  proceeds  of  its  sale  all  their  life  long.  The  cas- 
ket he  gave  to  Angelina  that  very  evening.  But  the 
card  —  he  did  not. 


108 


As  Toll 


AS  TOLL 

LOVELY  Mabel,  were  you  dreaming  ? 
Glad  the  day  you  said  to  me, 
Dancing  eyes  so  brightly  beaming, 
"  Give  my  love  to  dear  Marie  !  " 
What  a  strange  exhilaration 
To  be  bearer  of  your  heart, 
What  a  wonderful  temptation 
For  a  part. 

For  I  have  not  tried  to  find  her 
Since  you  sent  your  love  by  me ; 
Day  by  day  I  think  I  'm  blinder,  — 
Fruitless  search,  as  you  might  see. 
I  wonder,  if  in  sending, 
If  you  chose  your  slave  by  chance, 
What  that  twinkle  was  portending 
In  your  glance  ? 

Tell  me,  when  I  bear  the  treasure, 
Would  you  very  angry  be 
Should  I  keep  a  trifling  measure 
That  was  hardly  meant  for  me  ? 
For  it 's  common  in  commissions 
Some  percentage  of  the  whole 
To  extract  from  you  patricians 
Just  for  toll. 


109 


At  Monte  Carlo 


AT  MONTE   CARLO 

I  WAS  seated  at  one  of  the  tables  of  the  Cafe  de 
Paris,  and  was  waiting  for  the  time  to  come 
when  the  crowd  would  return.  The  place  was  de- 
serted, or  at  least  practically  so;  the  only  persons 
present  were  the  leader  of  the  orchestra,  who  was 
leaning  on  the  edge  of  the  piano,  with  a  cigarette  be- 
tween his  lips,  and  the  waiter  with  whom  he  was 
discussing  a  political  question.  From  time  to  time 
he  removed  the  cigarette  from  his  lips,  and  made 
passes  in  the  air  with  it,  which  gave  him  an  advantage 
over  the  garcon  whose  arms  were  full  of  empty  beer- 
glasses,  and  so  had  to  depend  solely  on  his  lips ;  which, 
as  every  one  knows,  was  a  distinct  drawback. 

The  old  woman  was  putting  the  chairs  back  in 
place  around  the  little  tables,  and  the  chef  talked 
with  the  cashier  at  her  little  desk  at  the  back.  It 
was  quiet,  and  the  only  sounds  were  an  occasional 
whistle  from  an  engine  about  to  enter  the  short  tun- 
nel at  Villefranche,  which  seemed  to  have  a  petulant 
I  note  about  it  as  if  the  engine  objected  to  entering  the 
dark  hole  with  its  red  lights,  its  smoke,  and  its  noise. 
The  towers  of  the  Casino  rose  above  the  palms,  and 
began  to  take  more  definite  form  as  some  one  lighted 
one  by  one  the  little  oil  lamps  with  colored  globes 
that  followed  the  lines  of  the  building. 

The  first  group  of  guests  arrived.  It  consisted  of 
a  man  and  two  women,  the  former  a  type  of  the 

no 


At  Monte  Carlo 

Frenchman  of  the  Boulevards.  He  wore  the  straight- 
brimmed  cylindrical  silk  hat  so  offensive  to  the  Amer- 
ican eye,  and  the  tight-fitting  evening  coat,  and  the 
embroidered  shirt-front  and  black  gloves  were  in 
accordance  with  it.  The  women  were  also  typical, 
loud  of  voice,  vivacious  of  manner,  and  with  that 
peculiar  something  that  marks  at  once  the  born  and 
bred  Parisienne.  The  white  light  of  the  arc  lamp 
above  them  accentuated  the  pencilling  of  the  brows, 
and  the  vermilion  line  of  the  lips.  A  fourth  mem- 
ber of  the  party  I  forgot  to  mention.  A  white  poodle 
cut  to  represent  a  lion  followed  in  their  wake.  Seated 
at  one  of  the  tables  over  long  glasses  of  absinthe,  to 
which  the  arc  light  gave  the  color  of  beryl,  they  dis- 
cussed the  events  of  the  day  and  plans  for  the  even- 
ing; nor  was  the  poodle  forgotten,  for  a  lump  of 
sugar  or  sweet  cracker  now  and  then  fell  to  his  lot. 
The  man  was  as  vivacious  as  the  women,  and  all 
talked  at  once,  and  about  nothing,  —  a  trait  peculiar  to 
the  nation  to  which  they  belonged.  An  Englishman 
now  entered,  at  once  making  a  contrast  between  him- 
self and  the  group  at  the  table.  Tall,  broad  of  shoul- 
der, blond,  and  athletic,  with  a  strongly  marked  face 
and  quiet  manner,  he  too  was  a  type  of  the  race  from 
which  he  came,  and  the  old  proverb  that  "  An  Eng- 
lishman can  whip  three  Frenchmen"  came  to  my 
mind  as  I  looked  across  to  where  the  scented  gesticu- 
lating son  of  France  sat  and  grimaced  over  his  ab- 
sinthe and  oranges.  It  had  grown  dark,  and  the 
towers  of  the  Casino  were  entirely  outlined  by  the  lit- 
tle colored  globes,  and  between  the  trunks  of  the 
palm-trees  I  could  see  the  entrance  like  the  door  of  a 
huge  furnace  sending  its  light  in  a  broad  pathway,  and 
in 


At  Monte  Carlo 

seeming  to  swallow  the  many  people  that  crossed  its 
threshold,  for  every  one  seemed  to  go  in,  and  none  to 
come  out.  Another  group  entered,  —  two  young  fel- 
lows in  evening  dress  followed  by  a  third  marked  by 
his  very  lack  of  personality.  Tall  and  dressed  in  gray, 
with  stooping  shoulders,  his  scanty  and  sandy-colored 
hair  carefully  parted,  he  looked  about  him  with  watery 
blue  eyes  in  a  vacant  way,  as  when  a  torch  is  sud- 
denly brought  before  the  eyes  of  an  owl.  He  was 
the  sort  of  a  man  you  see  on  ocean  steamers  who 
never  seems  to  know  any  one,  and  drinks  champagne 
for  lunch ;  you  might  also  see  him  at  a  racecourse, 
but  always  alone. 

They  came  and  went,  this  light  or  heavy  minded 
throng,  came  in  and  drank,  and  listened  to  the  orches- 
tra, and  went  out  again  into  the  night,  and  if  you 
chose  to  follow  any  of  them,  you  would  generally  see 
them  swallowed  by  the  great  glowing  maw  of  the 
Casino.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men ;  the  coach- 
man went  in  beside  the  count  whose  ancestors  had 
worn  the  red  cross  and  died  in  the  Holy  Land,  for 
the  love  of  money  makes  the  whole  world  kin. 

And  so  the  crowd  came  and  went  in  the  cafe,  and 
every  one  was  happy  or  pretended  to  be,  and  the 
lights  from  the  Casino  seemed  to  grow  brighter  as 
the  night  advanced.  Why  this  was  a  red-letter  day 
to  me  I  do  not  know,  only  that  I  have  never  for- 
gotten it. 


112 


The  Song  of  the  Cavaliers 


THE  SONG   OF   THE   CAVALIERS 

WHEN  our  sabres  rattle  merrily  against   our 
lance's  butt, 
And  our  bugles  ring  out  clearly  in  the  coolness  of 

the  dawn, 
You  can  see  the  guidons  waving  as  the  ranks  begin 

to  shut, 
And  the  morning  sun  beams  forth  on  the  sabres 

that  are  drawn. 
Then  the  bits  begin  to  jangle  and  our  horses  paw  the 

air, 
When  we  vault  into  the  saddle  and  we  grasp  the 

bridle-rein, 
Of  danger  we  are  fearless,  and  for  death  we  do  not 

care, 

For  we  fight  for  good  Don  Carlos  and  the  grim 
grandees  of  Spain. 

So  to  horse  and  away 
At  the  break  of  day , 
With  never  a  thought  of  fears  ^ 
For  Spain  and  the  right 
We'lldieorwe'llfigbt^ 
Sing  Ho^for  the  Cavaliers. 

As  we  gallop  through  the  villages  or  through  the 

sylvan  glades, 
Merry  maid  and  buxom  matron  smile  and  wave  as 

we  ride  by ; 
8  113 


The  Song  of  the  Cavaliers 

There  are  broken  hearts  behind  us,  as  well  as  broken 

blades, 
For  the  cavaliers  are  gallants  till  the  war  notes 

rend  the  sky. 
But  when  summer  breezes  waver  and  grow  cold  with 

news  of  war, 
We  gird  our  good  swords  closer  and  we  arm  us  for 

the  fight, 
Maid  and  winecup  fade  behind  us,  lance  and  helmet 

to  the  fore, 

And  we  wheel  into  our  battle  line  for  Carlos  and 
the  right. 

So  to  horse  and  away , 
At  break  of  day, 
With  never  a  thought  of  fears, 
We  'II  die  or  we  'II  fight 
For  Spain  and  the  right, 
Sing  Ho,  for  the  Cavaliers. 

When  at  last  the  brazen  bugles  ripple  out  the  ring- 
ing charge, 
We  rise  up  in  our  stirrups  and  we  wave  our  swords 

on  high, 
The  dust  clouds   rise   beneath  us,  and  the  demons 

seem  at  large, 
The    cavaliers  are  charging  in  to   conquer  or  to 

die. 
Grim    death    may   claim    his   victims   from  out   our 

whirling  ranks, 
Our  plumes  may  be  down-trodden  in  the  grinning, 

bloody  sod, 

The  Cavaliers  will  meet  their  fate  without  a  word  of 
thanks, 

114 


The  Song  of  the  Cavaliers 

But   they've  died  for  good  Don  Carlos,  for  old 
Spain,  and  for  their  God. 

So  to  horse  and  away , 
At  break  of  day, 
With  never  a  thought  of  fears, 
We  'II  die  or  we  'II  fight 
For  Spain  and  the  right, 
Sing  Ho,  for  the  Cavaliers* 


"Which  Passeth  All  Understanding 


"WHICH   PASSETH   ALL    UNDERSTANDING" 

IT  was  reflected  in  every  face.  Men's  eyes  looked 
kinder  and  happier,  and  the  singing  of  thousands 
and  thousands  of  hearts  filled  the  air  with  a  full- 
voiced,  happy  murmur,  which  rose  and  fell  varyingly 
over  the  great  city.  Down  town  the  shops  sent  out 
a  cheerful  glow  early  in  the  gray  of  the  afternoon, 
and  the  crowds  surging  restlessly  back  and  forth 
under  the  brilliantly  lighted  windows  swelled  the 
murmur  till  it  rose  to  an  indistinct  buzz.  On  the 
up-town  avenues  it  was  quieter,  but  the  long 
lines  of  well-groomed  men  and  beautifully  gowned 
women  had  changed  their  usual  self-complacent 
saunter  to  a  brisker  pace,  and  were  hurrying  about 
the  many  little  errands  which  must  be  done  before 
Christmas. 

The  tapering  rows  of  arc  lights  were  beginning  to 
shine  brightly  over  against  the  growing  dusk  of 
the  park  as  Wilton  swung  rapidly  along,  his  blood 
tingling  in  response  to  the  keen  cold  of  the  wind. 
Wilton  was  six  feet  and  good-natured,  and  did  most 
things  with  an  unconcern  which  was  marvellous.  He 
fell  in  love  with  Miss  Wainwright  quite  as  uncon- 
cernedly as  he  did  anything,  and  was  on  his  way  to 
see  her  now.  Much  more  wonderful,  he  was  think- 
ing deeply.  It  has  been  omitted  to  say  that  at  times 
Wilton  rose  to  occasions.  He  turned  sharply  into 
the  broad  side  street,  and  went  up  the  steps  of  the 

116 


"  Which  Passeth  All  Understanding  " 

big  brownstone  two  at  a  time,  nodded  brightly  to  the 
maid,  —  who  was  of  all  maids  the  daintiest  and 
sweetest,  —  and  towered  behind  her  to  Miss  Wain- 
wright's  study.  This  was  a  privilege  which  he 
shared  alone.  He  stood  aimlessly  in  the  centre  of 
the  room  for  a  moment,  with  the  first  flush  of  awe 
that  a  man  sometimes  feels  in  surroundings  exclu- 
sively feminine. 

"  I  forgive  your  lateness,"  said  a  voice  from  the 
window.  "  Look !  "  She  pointed  over  to  the  west, 
where  the  palisades  rose  straight  and  black  against 
the  dull  red  of  the  setting  sun.  Below,  the  street 
was  filled  with  stylish  traps,  returning  home  after 
their  hour  in  the  park.  The  subdued  rumble  of 
many  wheels,  and  the  jingle  of  tossing  lip-chains  came 
to  them  faintly.  "  But  it 's  so  bleak,"  said  Miss 
Wainwright.  "  I  've  been  lonely  to-day,"  she  went 
on,  "  and  some  way  I  've  been  thinking  of  those  still, 
warm  nights  last  summer,  —  you  remember  ?  —  when 
there  were  only  little  baby  swells  on  the  water,  and 
the  moon's  reflection  reminded  us  of  big  silver  dollars 
coming  up  from  the  bottom." 

"  Sentimental  twilight,"  agreed  Wilton.  "  I  can 
picture  just  how  bleak  and  cold  and  windy  it  is  out 
there  now,"  he  continued.  "  The  buoys  are  leaning 
way  over  with  the  wind,  and  the  schooners  are 
shouldering  their  way  stubbornly  against  the  heavy  roll- 
ers, and  the  little  white  yachts  at  anchor  in  the  harbor 
are  turning  their  noses  up  into  the  wind  and  dipping 
their  bright  lights  defiantly  out  to  sea,  and  the  sea  is 
rolling  in,  strong  and  restless,  and  churning  itself 
white  over  against  Little  Captain's  reef,  and  —  I  am 
glad  to  be  here,"  he  ended  with  a  smile. 
117 


"  Which  Passeth  All  Understanding  " 

She  nodded  silently  to  the  cigarette  in  his  hand. 
u  See,"  she  said,  "  these  are  my  Christmas  presents. 
Don't  you  think  this  will  please  Jack  ?  "  and  she 
held  up  a  tobacco  pouch,  which,  as  such,  was  mani- 
festly impossible.  u  I  copied  this  for  papa,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  Is  n't  it  appropriate  ?  "  Mr.  Pipp  was 
being  convinced  that  a  European  trip  was  necessary. 
"  And  I  have  something  very  nice  for  a  big,  careless 
boy  I  know  ;  something  to  remind  him  —  " 

But  Wilton  was  staring  out  the  window  unheed- 
ingly.  He  was  smoking  rapidly,  blowing  the  smoke 
nervously  far  in  front  of  him,  as  men  will  when  they 
think.  A  keen  woman  remarks  this  shortly. 

Miss  Wainwright  sat  down  and  folded  her  hands. 
a  Tell  me,"  she  said  simply. 

u  But  it 's  so  positively  foolish,  and  you  would  n't 
take  it  seriously,  and  —  " 

"  I  have  yet  to  dress  for  the  Assembly,"  remarked 
Miss  Wainwright,  pointedly. 

Wilton  wheeled  sharply  around.  "You  have 
noticed,"  he  said,  u  that  there  is  an  intoxication  about 
a  dance." 

"  Music  and  men,"  she  answered, "  comes  after  you 
remove  your  gloves." 

"  Music  and  women,"  he  corrected,  u  comes  after 
your  second  collar.  It  is  furthered,"  he  went  on, 
u  by  the  ride  home  in  the  half  shadow.  Close  prox- 
imity to  a  being  whose  individuality  is  lost  in  the  soft, 
warm,  perfumed  fluffiness  of  an  immense  opera  cloak 
is  not  conducive  to  sobriety." 

Miss  Wainwright  was  laughing  at  him  frankly. 
«  Yes  ?  "  she  smiled. 

"  Well,  to  drop  the  general  and  hold  to  the  con- 
118 


"  Which  Passeth  All  Understanding  " 

ditions.  He  and  she  used  to  be  excellent  friends, 
and  she  had  been  away  for  a  year.  It  was  perhaps 
natural  that  he  should  stop  at  her  home  after  the 
dance.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  toast  her  return 
in  what,  for  obvious  reasons,  he  called  the  queen's 
drink. 

"  She  held  the  glass  before  the  light,  and  smiled  to 
herself,  and  spoke  of  it  as  c  my  influential  friend.' 
And  later,  of  all  places,  she  stopped  him  in  the  inky 
blackness  of  the  library  to  ask  when  he  was  to  call. 
Now,  if  not  indisputable,  at  least  it  is  a  fact  which 
can  be  proved,  that  in  a  dark  room,  between  two  people 
who  are  —  who  are  —  well,  let  us  say  —  merely  the 
dance  and  the  home-toast,  you  understand  —  politely 
intoxicated,  there  is  a  mutual  attraction.  And  so" 
—  Wilton  paused  to  relight  his  cigarette  —  "  it  was 
the  intoxication  of  the  surroundings  —  that,  pure  and 
simple.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  matter,  foolish 
as  it  was,  would  in  the  end  merely  have  strengthened 
a  friendship  like  theirs.  But  in  this  case  the  girl 
happened  to  take  it  seriously,  and  he  happened  to 
have  a  peculiar  motto  on  his  coat  of  arms,  Klyp  Tryst^ 
or  something  like  that,  which  means  keep  faith.  He 
also  had  ideas  about  family  honor  which  were 
peculiar,  and  was  of  course  in  love  with  another  girl 
at  the  time."  Wilton  stopped  abruptly,  and  un- 
clasping his  watch-fob,  handed  it  to  her  silently. 
Stamped  in  old  Scottish  beneath  the  crest  were 
the  words  Klyp  Tryst.  She  fingered  it  thought- 
fully. Wilton  leaned  toward  her  over  the  back  of 
a  chair. 

"  Alice,"  he  said,  "  we  drove  tandem  the  other 
morning  in  the  park,  and  since  then  I  've  been  think- 

119 


"Which  Passeth  All  Understanding" 

ing  just  how  much  it  would  mean  to  me  —  just  how 
good  it  would  be  —  if  we  might  start  sometime  early 
in  the  new  year  and  do  the  rest  of  life  tandem.  It 's 
all  come  over  me  with  a  sort  of  rush,  and  even  now 
it 's  hard  for  me  to  realize  myself  just  how  much  I 
love  you,  and  now/'  he  went  on  slowly,  "there's 
that ; "  and  he  pointed  to  the  crest  in  her  hand. 
"  Not  so  long  ago  I  relished  just  such  affairs.  At 
worst  I  called  them  ridiculous.  This  one  seems  — 
wretched.  It 's  mine,  all  my  doing,"  he  went  on, 
"but  I  know  that  it 's  your  nature  to  be  kind  and  for- 
giving, and  so  I  *m  allowing  myself  to  hope."  He 
straightened  himself.  "  Do  you  think,  Alice  —  " 

She  rose  abruptly.  "There  is  a  time  for  think- 
ing, and  a  time  for  dressing,"  she  said.  "  You  really 
must  go.  You  require  considerable  forgiveness," 
she  went  on  ;  "  but  —  "  The  smile  in  her  eyes  was 
hardly  defiant,  and  always  Wilton  did  things  uncon- 
cernedly. The  pretty  little  maid  lifted  her  hands 
and  gasped,  at  a  sound  which  she  had  grown  to 
associate  exclusively  with  herself.  But  a  new  bank- 
note crinkled  in  the  pretty  maid's  bosom,  and  Miss 
Wainwright  sang  softly  to  herself,  while  the  pretty 
maid  dressed  her.  "  Even  to  the  changing  of  a 
motto,"  she  said.  And  later,  as  she  went  downstairs 
she  was  still  holding  an  odd-looking  crest  that  was 
lettered  in  Scotch,  and  saying  something  to  herself 
about  a  big,  foolish,  splendid  boy.  And  the  footman 
held  the  door  open  absent-mindedly  so  long,  while 
she  was  pulling  on  her  gloves,  that  the  long  white 
cloak  blew  off  one  shoulder,  and  a  cold,  tiny  snow- 
flake  drifted  in  and  settled  on  the  warm  neck,  and 
was  quickly  covered  up  and  smothered  for  its  im- 

120 


"  Which  Passeth  All  Understanding  " 

pertinence.  But  at  Christmas  thousands  of  hearts 
are  singing,  and  all  mankind  is  happy,  and  even  a 
footman  may  be  pardoned  if  his  mind  be  filled  with 
thoughts  of  the  Yule-tide  and  bright  wood-fires  and 
savory  roast  turkey. 


121 


At  the  Dawn 


AT  THE   DAWN 

PALING  stars  and  a  waking  breeze ; 
Then  softly,  faintly  heard, 
Across  the  dewy  silences, 
Drowsy  and  sweet  —  a  bird. 

While  the  Dawn's  banners  deck  the  sky 
And  dark  trees  sigh  and  stir, 

I  pray  God's  dearest  gift  may  lie 
In  this  new  day  for  Her. 


122 


The  Leper 


THE  LEPER 

,  Domine,  Domine!  "  I  was  wont  to 
say,  over  and  over,  till  my  tongue  was 
numb  and  my  lips  near  to  bleeding,  but  God  never 
heard.  u  Domine,  Domine,  Save  the  white  people ! 
Save  us,  save  us ! "  Is  Heaven  so  far,  then,  that 
God  cannot  see  that  my  flesh  is  white  and  rotten 
and  stinking  ?  Can  he  not  know  that  my  blood  is 
turned  to  milk  ?  I  have  shaken  the  wooden  clapper 
of  my  bell,  and  made  a  great  noise  that  He  might 
take  notice  of  me.  But  God  —  the  God  of  the 
Red  People,  we  say  —  did  not  hear.  It  was  in  the 
old  days  when  I  had  a  left  foot  which  was  white, 
indeed,  but  nearly  whole,  that  I  prayed  thus  to  the 
God  of  the  Red  Folk.  In  that  time  I  fell  into 
frenzies  and  tore  the  scabs  from  my  legs  with  my 
nails,  till  I  was  covered  with  blood  —  but  the  blood 
was  more  horrible  than  the  flesh. 

I  knew  a  leper  then  who  was  a  priest  aforetime 
—  but  he  became  white  like  us,  and  joined  our  lodge, 
the  Order  of  the  White  Brethren.  When  he  was 
new  to  us,  he  carved  the  crucifix  on  his  bell,  and  a 
crown,  which  I  do  not  rightly  remember ;  but  after- 
ward he  scrawled  over  them,  and  cut  images  which 
were  not  decent.  When  he  was  new,  he  wrote  a 
litany  for  us,  all  in  monks'  Latin,  full  of u  Domine, 
Domine,  Domine  !  "  that  one  could  say  in  rhythm  with 
the  strokes  of  the  bell  on  his  neck.  "  Lord  God,  save 

123 


The  Leper 

us  !  Save  us  from  death  forever  who  are  now  dead  in 
life  !  Save  us^  Lord^  save  us  !  "  Afterward  he  spat 
out  at  the  church,  because  it  would  not  help  him ; 
and  he  wrote  the  litany  anew,  full  of  blasphemy  and 
uncleanness.  I  learned  that,  too,  in  my  own  course, 
though  I  had  never  quite  known  the  other,  and  we 
would  repeat  it  together,  when  he  was  not  laughing 
to  himself  or  praying  to  the  fiends  in  hell. 

He  was  a  gaunt  man,  this  Aucassin,  with  gray 
hair  that  was  thicker  where  the  tonsure  had  been. 
And  he  died  —  I  do  not  remember  —  a  hound  bit 
his  throat  and  he  died.  That  was  in  the  south  of 
the  land,  where  we  followed  a  great  train  of  men  in 
shirts  of  mail,  with  many  banners,  and  long  lines  of 
men  with  steel  knives  that  dazzled  our  eyes  in  the 
sun.  And  in  the  train  was  much  refuse,  so  that 
some  of  us  followed  for  weeks,  not  heeding  our 
companions  the  dogs,  who  had  fear  of  us.  There 
were  other  followers,  too,  who,  although  afraid,  would 
yet  pelt  us  from  behind  shelter.  But  it  happened 
that  Aucassin  followed  one  into  a  marsh,  and  there- 
after we  were  free  of  these  beggars. 

Once,  too,  there  came  men  from  the  rear  camp,  clad 
in  yellow  jerkins,  who  were  drunk,  and  who  would 
have  cut  us  with  their  swords.  But  we  did  not  run, 
and  Aucassin  laughed  at  them,  so  that  they  were 
astonished ;  and,  finally,  when  they  saw  what  manner 
of  men  we  were,  they  fled  and  left  their  weapons 
behind  them.  So  that  our  white  robes  seemed  a 
greater  defence  than  coats  of  mail  —  like  the  angels 
in  the  holy  writings,  Aucassin  told  me.  But  I  could 
not  see  wherein  we  were  like  the  holy  angels  —  the 
angels. 

124 


The  Leper 

There  are  two  parts  in  the  time  of  our  life ;  I  do 
not  know  which  is  the  worse,  yet  they  are  unlike. 
When  we  are  not  long  lepers,  or  young,  so  that  the 
sound  of  our  bells  is  yet  hateful  in  our  ears  and  the 
color  of  our  bodies  sickens  us,  we  cry  out  and  maim 
ourselves  vainly,  and  we  wish  to  crush  whatever  we 
look  upon,  just  as  a  snake  whose  back  is  broken  bites 
at  twigs.  Some  of  the  white  brothers  kill  themselves, 
but  these  are  not  many.  In  these  days  we  are  full 
of  the  desires  of  the  Red  People,  so  that  we  are  nearly 
akin  to  them.  I  have  heard  that  those  others,  when 
life  goes  ill  with  them,  seek  adventure.  So  do  we, 
I  think ;  but  I  am  not  sure,  for  it  is  so  long  and  the 
desire  of  adventure  does  not  live  long,  because  what- 
ever may  be  to  do,  there  is  no  one  to  see.  After, 
we  are  quieter,  but  we  are  less  alike.  Some,  like 
Aucassin,  go  about  with  their  lips  mouthing  words, 
without  ceasing,  whether  prayers  to  Satan,  or  words 
learned  and  forgotten,  whose  meaning  is  yet  forgotten. 
And  some  draw  their  cowls  over  their  heads  and  do 
not  speak,  even  as  I  have  not  spoken  since  the  last 
harvest.  It  is  one  in  the  end,  when  the  eyes  go,  and 
the  feet  and  hands. 

I  can  remember  when  I  hated  the  Red  People  so 
that  I  waited  behind  trees  on  the  highway  that  I 
might  frighten  them  —  women  and  little  children. 
The  men  I  feared  more  than  they  feared  me.  And 
then  they  .  .  .  there  is  another  happening  which  I 
remember  also,  of  a  monk. 

He  rode  a  jennet  that  was  weighted  down  with 

heavy  saddle   panniers,  and  under  the  three  knots  of 

his  girdle  was  the  neck  of  a  bottle.     When  I  came 

into  the  road  and  laid  my  hand  on  the  bridle  of  his 

"5 


The  Leper 

beast,  he  fell  and  lay  in  the  dust  trembling.  And 
when  I  left  the  beast  and  approached  him,  out  of 
malice,  he  made  great  use  of  what  strength  fear  had 
left  in  him,  and  clambered  into  the  saddle  and  rode 
away,  throwing  away  his  goods  that  he  might  be 
carried  the  faster.  Part  of  the  burden  was  of  coin, 
and  I  threw  gold  ducats  at  him,  striking  him  in  the 
head  and  cutting  him  so  that  the  blood  ran  down  his 
bald  scalp.  But  his  blood  was  red,  and  that  threw 
me  into  a  frenzy,  and  I  followed  after  him ;  but  I 
could  not  overtake  him.  I  do  not  know  why  I 
remember  these  things. 

While  I  was  still  young,  so  that  my  thoughts  were 
as  the  thoughts  of  those  others,  I  hid  in  a  forest  that 
was  beyond  the  town  of  La  Tourin.  In  the  day  I 
lay  in  the  leaves  in  the  wood,  but  at  night  I  ventured 
to  the  edge  of  the  town  that  I  might  see  the  yellow 
lights  in  the  windows,  and  haply  children  at  a  fire, 
and,  when  I  grew  bold,  sometimes  men  at  a  tavern 
table.  In  those  days  I  had  not  forgotten  the  others 
and  the  ways  of  their  life.  By  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
so  near  that  I  could  lie  in  the  wood  and  see  the 
smoke  of  the  chimney  and  the  sun  on  the  tiles,  stood 
a  cottage,  and  because  of  its  nearness  I  learned  to 
watch  it  by  day.  When  it  was  evening,  I  could  see 
through  an  opening,  where  sat  an  old  man,  yellow 
and  thin,  near  to  dying,  and  often  with  him  sat  his 
daughter.  I  had  learned  to  be  more  quiet  than  the 
leaves  wherein  I  lay,  and  though  I  came  and  hid  in  a 
young  tree  near  the  door,  they  never  heard  me. 

The  girl  had  yellow  hair  and  a  face  red  as  the 
berries  which  grow  in  the  forests  in  the  winter  for  the 
White  Brethren.  And  because  of  the  ruddiness  of 

126 


The  Leper 

her  skin,  and  her  body,  firm  and  clean  like  a  young 
tree,  a  great  desire  rose  in  my  flesh,  and  not  only  in 
my  flesh,  but  my  heart,  if  the  kind  God  had  left  me 
that. 

Therefore  I  made  myself  strong  in  the  purpose  to 
go  there  no  more,  the  virtues  of  the  others  not  being 
yet  dead  in  me.  But  because  the  appetites  of  the 
Red  People  were  no  less  living  in  my  flesh,  I  could 
not.  Wherefore  I  washed  my  body  in  the  brook, 
and  dried  it  with  leaves  whenever  I  went  down  to 
the  town.  And  as  I  came  more  often,  so  much 
greater  grew  the  desire  in  my  flesh  —  the  flesh  which 
I  began  to  understand  in  all  its  foulness  —  and  I  grew 
daily  fiercer  and  more  like  the  wild  beasts.  Once  I 
saw  a  young  man  sitting  at  the  fire,  fair  and  ruddy 
also,  and  strong  of  limb ;  whereat  I  grew  so  angry 
that  I  went  back  to  the  wood  and  thought  how  I 
should  kill  him  —  and  worse.  That  came  to  nothing, 
because  I  never  saw  him  again. 

In  those  days  when  I  began  to  feel  the  evil  that  lay 
in  me,  I  called  unto  all  the  saints  whose  names  I 
knew.  Could  they  not  see  that  I  was  not  like  the 
others  ?  Even  all  the  squirrels  in  the  wood  knew 
that,  and  were  afraid.  Therefore  why  should  I  feel 
the  same  desires  as  the  others,  and  the  same  pain  ? 
But  Aucassin  said  that  Heaven  was  very  far  off,  and 
there  they  cannot  hear  us,  save  we  be  in  a  church. 
And  how  was  I,  of  the  white  people,  to  enter  a 
church  ?  After  that,  upon  a  day  when  the  air  was 
sweet  like  spring-water,  as  I  lay  in  the  leaves  in  the 
forest,  I  saw  the  girl  walking  through  the  trees  alone. 
I  grasped  the  trunk  of  a  sapling  and  lay  shaking  as 
with  an  ague,  so  that  the  leaves  rustled,  until  she  passed 

127 


The  Leper 

on,  not  seeing  me.  And  again  after  that,  she  came 
often  to  the  wood,  so  that  I  learned  where  to  wait  for 
her.  And  day  by  day  it  was  harder  to  keep  silence. 
It  grew  in  my  mind  then  that  if  I  showed  myself, 
she  would  not  see  that  I  was  different  —  if  I  should 
throw  away  my  bell  and  pull  back  my  cowl.  I  do 
not  know  why  these  strange  thoughts  were  in  my 
brain,  —  haply  because  I  had  eaten  no  fit  food  for 
many  days.  Thus  one  day  when  she  stopped  in  the 
wood,  I  came  out  from  behind  a  tree  and  stood  be- 
fore her.  I  had  forgotten  that  even  vermin  would 
not  come  near  me. 

She  did  not  speak  to  me  when  I  waited  there  for 
her,  but  cried  out,  and  fell  back  as  if  she  were  dead. 
And  a  great  eagerness  filled  me,  and  I  ran  forward. 
But  before  I  reached  her  I  stopped,  with  the  same 
impulses  that  the  others  feel  fighting  in  me,  so  that  I 
went  no  nearer,  but  stopped,  too  far  away  to  touch 
the  hem  of  her  dress,  and  stood  thus  biting  my  lips 
till  the  teeth  met.  But  in  the  end  I  turned  my  back 
upon  her,  as  she  lay  there  with  the  red  color  gone 
from  her  face,  and  ran  through  the  forest  crying, 
"  Leper,  leper !  "  and  shaking  my  bell  until  my  feet 
gave  way  under  me,  and  I  sank  down,  I  do  not  know 
where. 

I  do  not  know  why  I  remember  this.  Yesterday 
I  did  not  know  that  I  had  not  always  been  of  the 
white  people,  and  to-morrow  I  should  not  recognize 
the  woman  if  I  should  see  her.  But  to-day  I  know. 

Since  then  I  have  shunned  the  white  people  as  the 

others  shun  me,  and  live  alone  in  the  forest,  talking  to 

myself  of  I  do  not  know  what.     I  do  not  know.     But 

my  limbs  are  almost  gone  now,  and   I  cannot  tell 

128 


The  Leper 

what  will  happen  then.  I  only  know  that  the  fire  of 
hell  will  burn  my  flesh  till  it  is  charred  and  almost 
clean  like  the  others.  That  is  what  Aucassin  said. 
Therefore  I  am  waiting  until  then,  —  for  the  fire 
of  hell. 


129 


A  Song  for  Seafarers 


A  SONG   FOR   SEAFARERS 

HOW  may  he  know  the  haven's  peace 
Who  never  fared  a-sea  ? 
Little  recks  he  who  bides  on  shore 

What  tides  and  winds  may  be, — 
How  the  blue  days  drop  down  the  sky, 
And  nights  creep  stealthily. 

Little  recks  he  the  joy  that  comes 

When  'gainst  the  sunset  sky 
Dark  headlands  and  the  gray  old  town 

In  waiting  welcome  lie, 
While  harbor-lights  a  greeting  flash 

And  homing  sea-birds  cry. 

These  be  for  him  who  far  hath  fared ; 

For  him  alone  they  be. 
(Oh !  welcome  waiting  lights  !  and  oh  ! 

Her  dear  eyes'  watch  for  me  !  ) 
Well  may  I  know  the  haven's  peace, 

For  I  have  fared  the  sea. 


130 


Principle 


PRINCIPLE 

"  TT  is  a  most  convenient  institution,  that  ccafe- 
terion,'  "  said  the  broker, "  not  only  because  it  's 
in  the  basement,  ten  steps  from  the  elevator.  Have 
you  never  had  a  lunch  there  before?  Then  you 
see  the  simplicity  of  the  system.  And,  except  an 
occasional  well-dressed  tramp,  I  've  never  heard  of 
anything  's  not  being  paid  for  — 

u  Indeed  it  is.  If  one  is  to  ruin  one  's  digestion 
with  a  mixture  of  coffee  and  lamb-pie,  eaten  in  three 
minutes  and  digested  in  ten,  it's  at  least  a  comfort 
not  to  spend  ten  minutes  more  waiting  for  checks. 
About  paying?  I  thought  you  saw.  Why,  you 
pick  up  a  menu  at  the  door,  and  check  each  dish  as 
you  get  it.  When  you  come  out,  there's  no  one  to 
watch  you — just  a  cashier  at  a  desk,  and  you  present 
the  card  with  whatever  —  " 

"Twelve,  going  up!"  intoned  the  elevator  boy, 
with  that  graphic  rising  inflection  which  masters  of 
elevating  use. 

"With  whatever —  Well,  by  Gad!  Yes,  you 
know  what  I  said  of  the  well-dressed  tramp.  Right 
past,  and  the  check  in  my  hand  !  They  can't  count 
on  absent-mindedness;  still,  one  rarely  gets  too  far  to 
save  one  's  self-respect.  I  wonder  if  the  boy 's  in  the 
office.  Tim  !  Tim  !  let  the  ticker  go,  and  take  this 
check,  and  this,  and  pay  the  restaurant  downstairs. 
And  shut  the  door.  Sharp  now ! 


Principle 

"  Yes,  they  are  here,  as  I  left  them.  The  deed 's 
in  a  separate  package.  Here.  What?  Yes,  that 
was  the  trouble;  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  alter  it, 
my  man  said.  So  I  had  Clifton  make  a  new  one. 
Unpleasant,  decidedly,  but  quite  safe,  I  'm  sure,  and 
necessary  —  necessary.  You'd  best  destroy  that 
original." 


132 


To  a  Dreamer 


TO  A  DREAMER 

THINK  not  by  dreaming  to  regain 
Hopes  blasted  by  dull  years  of  pain, 
Up,  laggard,  let  thy  sword  flash  out; 
Scatter  the  shadows  by  thy  shout. 


133 


A  Letter  and  a  Postscript 


A  LETTER  AND   A   POSTSCRIPT 

uRcmsoN." 

A  man  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  that  surrounded  a  fat  little  Englishman  who 
was  conducting  an  impromptu  distribution  of  the 
bi-monthly  mail,  and  took  his  letter. 

He  was  the  only  one  in  all  this  motley  crew 
of  South  African  miners  who  seemed  worthy  a 
second  glance.  Something  about  his  mouth  when  he 
smiled  seemed  to  hint  that  he  had  been  cheated  of 
his  youth  and  had  begun  life  midway.  A  man 
seemingly  capable  of  the  tenderest  devotion  and  the 
bitterest  hate,  and  one  in  whom  silence,  strength, 
and  loneliness  were  personified. 

As  he  looked  at  the  delicately  penned  address,  his 
eyes  recalled  to  one  a  half-forgotten  memory  of  a 
morning  when,  from  the  dark  shadows  of  the  foot- 
hills, one  saw  the  sun  touch  the  stern  mountain- 
peaks  with  its  soft  first  light. 

Murchison  left  the  noisy,  good-natured  crowd  and 
went  to  another  part  of  the  store  to  read  his  letter. 
It  began:  — 

DEAREST  HUSBAND,  —  It  is  such  a  long  time  since  I 
have  heard  from  you,  lost  in  your  terrible  Africa.  ...  I 
have  been  so  lonely,  so  very  lonely,  since  our  little  Mabel 
left  us,  —  Mabel,  whom  you  never  saw.  What  would  I 
not  give  if  you  might  have  known  her.  .  .  .  And  you  are 
coming  home,  let  me  see,  why,  so  soon  my  poor  little  letter 

134 


A  Letter  and  a  Postscript 

may  not  reach  you  before  you  start.  And  you  are  rich, 
John  ?  Really  it  is  all  so  odd.  It  seems  as  though  I  can 
hardly  wait  for  the  days  when  we  shall  be  together  again. 
You  have  been  away  for  such  a  long  time.  ...  I  am 
much  better,  I  think.  I  walked  several  blocks  this  after- 
noon, and  the  fresh  air  seemed  to  make  me  stronger. 
Cousin  Annie  is  kinder  to  me  each  day,  if  that  is  possible. 
Perhaps  I  shall  want  to  add  something  in  the  morning,  so  I 
shall  not  seal  my  letter  now.  Good-night,  my  dear  hus- 
band, and  good-by  for  a  little  while.  MEG. 

And  below  this,  in  another  hand  :  — 

Meg  died  early  this  morning.  She  was  conscious  almost 
to  the  last,  and  in  no  pain.  I  have  only  time  to  write  these 
words  as  the  postman  waits.  God  help  you.  ANNIE. 

The  man's  face  became  livid.  He  clutched  blindly 
at  the  air,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  the  wall  at 
his  back.  Presently  he  staggered  out  of  the  store, 
down  the  little  street  and  out  among  the  hills.  He 
wandered  on  for  hours,  stumbling  over  half-buried 
rocks  and  tripping  on  the  long,  tough  bunches  of 
grass  that  lay  in  his  path.  He  knew  nothing  of  this ; 
only  knew  that  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  toiled 
and  struggled  and  prayed,  was  dead,  and  that  he 
would  never  see  her  face  again,  never  take  her  slight 
form  into  his  arms,  as  he  would  a  child's,  never  gaze 
into  the  depths  of  her  dear  eyes,  nor  stroke  her  soft 
hair  again. 

He  was  sick  and   faint  and  weak,  his  eyes  were 

blinded,  his  feet  like  lead  ;  yet  he  did  not  stop,  but 

struggled  on.     At  last  he  could  go  no  farther.     He 

fell  exhausted,  but  lay  quiet  for  only  a  moment.     He 

135 


A  Letter  and  a  Postscript 

must  up  and  away;  away  from  this  terrible  night- 
mare —  anywhere,  but  he  must  go.  He  struggled  to 
his  feet,  staggered  on  for  a  few  steps,  and  fell  again. 
This  time  he  did  not  try  to  rise,  but  lay  panting,  as 
some  wild  beast,  dog-driven  until  it  is  unable  to  go 
farther,  falls  and  lies  in  mute  agony  awaiting  its 
end. 

As  Murchison  lay  there,  his  senses  became  more 
and  more  confused,  and  presently  he  fell  into  a  sort 
of  half  sleep,  but  he  could  not  forget  himself  entirely, 
and  so,  though  not  asleep,  he  feared  to  waken.  The 
cool  evening  wind  bathed  his  fevered  face,  and  at  last 
its  chilly  breath  roused  him  from  his  stupor.  He  sat 
up  and  looked  about,  wondering.  For  the  moment 
he  had  forgotten,  but  now  the  revelation  of  the  day's 
events  came  back  to  him  with  crushing  force. 

A  demon  seemed  to  possess  him,  and  liquid  fire  to 
run  in  his  veins.  He  cursed  heaven,  his  Maker, 
himself,  the  mother  who  bore  him.  Cursed,  not  with 
the  blind,  unreasoning  rage  of  a  less  intense  nature 
but  in  low-spoken  sentences,  every  word  of  which 
was  fully  measured  before  it  was  uttered.  Then 
presently  the  idea  of  self-destruction  took  hold  on 
him.  There  was  nothing  to  live  for  now,  and  he 
would  die.  Surely  this  was  the  simplest  way  out  of 
his  misery.  Yes,  he  would  die. 

Now  he  felt  more  calm.  He  was  on  the  border- 
land between  this  life  and  the  next,  and  he  would 
pause  for  a  few  moments.  How  sweet  and  still 
everything  about  him  seemed !  He  wondered  if 
there  were  ever  before  as  beautiful  a  night.  The 
soft,  caressing  breeze,  the  dark  sky  with  its  innumer- 
able dots  of  light,  and  the  great,  solemn  mountain 

136 


A  Letter  and  a  Postscript 

over  yonder.  This  last  seemed  like  a  friend  to  him. 
The  half-light  from  the  rising  moon  showed  its  deep 
scars,  marks  of  conflicts  long  since  ended.  How 
grand  it  seemed  standing  there  alone,  utterly  alone, 
yet  so  much  nobler  than  the  smooth,  grassy  hills 
among  which  he  lay  !  How  much  purer  was  the 
light  that  fell  on  its  lofty  peak,  shedding  upon  its 
snowy  summit  a  soft  halo,  than  that  which  reached 
the  plain  below. 

And  was  he,  a  man  endowed  with  an  intellect,  to 
be  put  to  shame  by  a  mere  mass  of  earth  and  rock  ? 
And  she  was  surely  watching  over  him  now, —  what 
would  she  say  to  this  cowardice  ?  He  must  not,  he 
could  not  die  so.  There  was  surely  something  for 
which  to  live.  By  God's  help  men  should  see  in 
him  the  lesson  he  had  found  in  the  mountain,  and 
perhaps  some  might  learn  as  he  had. 

All  this  took  hours. 

As  the  east  was  turning  pink,  weary  and  faint  he 
reached  the  little  mining  village  again,  and  that  same 
day,  upon  the  wagon  which  had  borne  his  letter  to 
him,  he  went  out  into  the  world. 


137 


My  Lady  Goes  to  the  Play 


MY  LADY   GOES  TO   THE   PLAY 

WITH  the  link-boys  running  on  before 
To  light  her  on  her  way, 
A-lounging  in  her  sedan  goes 
Belinda  to  the  play. 

In  patch  and  powder,  puff  and  frill, 

From  satin  shoe  to  hair, 
Of  all  the  maids  in  London  town 

I  wot  there 's  none  so  fair ! 

From  Mayfair  down  along  the  Strand 

To  Covent  Garden's  light, 
Where  Master  David  Garrick  acts 

In  a  new  role  to-night, 

The  swinging  sedan  takes  its  way, 

And  with  expectant  air 
Belinda  fans,  and  wonders  who 

To-night  there  will  be  there. 

Sir  Charles,  perhaps,  or,  happy  thought, 

Flushing  thro'  her  powder, 
He  might  come  in  —  beneath  her  stays 

She  feels  her  heart  beat  louder, 

138 


My  Lady  Goes  to  the  Play 

The  place,  at  last !     The  flunkies  set 

Their  dainty  burden  down. 
u  Lud,  what  a  crowd  !  "     My  Lady  frowns 

And  gathers  up  her  gown. 

ENVOY 

Alack  for  human  loveliness 

And  for  its  little  span  ! 
Where 's  Belinda  ?     Here,  quite  fresh, 

Are  still  her  gown  and  fan  ! 


139 


\ 


At  a  Music  Hall 


AT  A  MUSIC   HALL 


"  "\7*OU  've  never  been  here  before,  have  you  ?  " 
asked  Conway,  as  they  stepped   from   the 
elevator  of  the  Gayety  Roof  Garden. 

"  No,"  answered  Wendall  ;  "  and  it  's  queer,  too, 
for  I  Jve  visited  New  York  quite  a  number  of  times. 
What  a  crowd  there  is  !  " 

u  I  'm  afraid  we  're  too  late  to  get  a  seat,"  said 
Conway.  "  No,  we  're  in  luck,  there  's  an  empty 
table.  Let  's  hurry  up  and  take  it." 

"  What  kind  of  a  place  is  this  ?  "  asked  Wendall, 
as  they  seated  themselves. 

"  Why,  it  's  rather  a  fashionable  sort  of  theatre," 
replied  his  companion,  u  a  little  above  the  average 
music  hall,  I  should  say.  That  is,  the  vaudeville  is 
no  worse  than  you  '11  find  at  most  places  during  the 
summer,  and  the  beer  is  excellent,  which  reminds 
me  —  Waiter  !  "  he  called  to  a  white-aproned 
individual  who  was  hurrying  past,  u  two  steins  and 
a  couple  of  cigars." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  man  deferentially,  and 
vanished  in  the  direction  of  the  bar. 

"We've  missed  most  of  the  numbers,  I  guess," 
continued  Conway,  "  but  this  next  ought  to  be  good." 

Wendall  glanced  at  the  stage,  where  two  little  boys 
in  lavender  court  suits  were  putting  into  the  bulletin 
boards  large  cardboard  placards  with  the  name 
u  Mamie  Devereaux"  printed  conspicuously  on  them. 

u  Who  is  Mamie  Devereaux  ?  "  he  inquired. 
140 


At  a  Music  Hall 

tt  Why,  I  *ve  never  seen  her  myself,"  said  Conway, 
"but  they  say  she  is  the  drawing  card  here.  She 
sings  and  dances,  I  believe,  or  some  such  stunt. 
However,  you  can  see  for  yourself  in  a  minute." 

A  murmur  of  satisfaction  swept  through  the  audi- 
ence, which  changed  into  noisy  clappings  as  Miss 
Devereaux  danced  on  the  stage  and  kissed  her  hands 
knowingly  to  the  front  row.  Evidently  she  was  a 
favorite  with  the  patrons  of  "  The  Gayety."  She 
was  rather  a  tall  girl,  of  the  usual  variety  star 
type,  and  would  have  been  pretty  if  her  cheeks 
had  been  less  aggressively  red.  After  she  had  fin- 
ished her  salutations  to  the  house,  she  nodded  to  the 
orchestra,  danced  a  few  preparatory  steps,  and  began 
to  sing. 

People  said  afterwards  that  Mamie  was  a  little  worse 
than  usual  that  night.  There  is  no  use  describing 
the  song ;  it  was  somewhat  beyond  the  average  man's 
powers  of  description  even  if  he  wanted  to  try,  and 
the  worst  of  it  all  was  that  she  really  had  a  beautiful 
voice.  Her  frank  indecency  affected  even  the  dulled 
sensibilities  of  the  audience.  Most  of  the  women 
blushed  or  looked  down,  and  their  escorts  listened 
with  a  shamefaced  sort  of  attention  which  did  not  pre- 
vent them  from  joining  in  the  enthusiastic  applause, 
as  Mamie,  after  five  startling  verses,  kissed  her  hands 
again  and  danced  lightly  behind  the  wings. 

u  I  thought  you  told  me  this  was  a  respectable 
theatre,"  remarked  Wendall,  after  a  short  silence. 

u  I  beg  your  pardon,"  answered  Conway,  with  the 
ready  cynicism  of  twenty-two,  "  I  said  it  was  fashion- 
able. Now,  for  heaven's  sake,  Bob,  don't  begin  to 
discuss  the  degeneracy  of  the  stage,  because  it 's  too 
141 


At  a  Music  Hall 

hot,  and,  besides,  Mamie  '$  coming  back  again.     No, 
by  Jove,  she  is  n't !     It 's  some  one  else." 

A  good  many  in  the  audience  thought  the  same 
thing ;  but  it  was  Mamie,  though  at  first  it  did  n't 
seem  possible.  She  had  slipped  a  long,  soft-colored 
cloak  over  the  tawdriness  of  her  former  costume,  and 
somehow  it  softened  the  lines  of  her  face  until  she 
was  almost  beautiful.  But  it  was  n't  only  the  dress  ; 
the  whole  woman  was  changed ;  her  manner,  her 
expressions,  her  gestures,  everything.  She  stood 
somewhat  back  on  the  stage,  out  of  the  glare  of  the 
footlights,  and  then  the  orchestra  began  a  little  simple 
lullaby,  and  she  sang  it. 

There  were  those  in  the  house  that  night  who 
confessed  afterwards  that  they  cried,  and  no  one  who 
had  been  there  laughed  at  them.  It  may  have  been 
only  acting,  but  if  so  it  was  certainly  the  best  acting 
in  the  world. 

She  did  n't  sing  the  song  exactly ;  she  was  the  song. 
Her  voice  touched  the  commonplace  words  and  made 
them  beautiful.  She  sang  as  a  young  mother  sings 
to  her  first-born,  and  the  men  who  listened  were 
surprised  out  of  their  worldliness  and  thought  of  their 
own  mothers  purely  and  tenderly,  as  even  the  worst 
of  us  think  of  our  mothers,  thank  God  !  The  tune 
lost  itself  in  a  flood  of  golden  sound,  that  faltered  and 
softened  with  yearning  love,  and  then  rang  out  again 
with  all  the  passionate  tenderness  of  maternity  —  and 
all  its  purity. 

There  was  no  applause  when  the  first  verse  ended  ; 
only  a  little  sound,  as  though  the  people  were  impa- 
tient at  the  pause.  Then  the  violins  crooned  through 
the  interlude  and  she  began  to  sing  again. 

142 


At  a  Music  Hall 

Oh,  the  pathos  of  that  second  verse !  It  was  no 
longer  the  mother  song,  though  the  words  were  still 
those  of  the  lullaby.  The  words  were  forgotten  in 
the  music ;  people  did  n't  hear  them.  Only  they 
heard  the  starved  soul  of  the  woman  pleading  for 
that  which  she  had  not  —  which  now  she  could  never 
have.  And  in  a  vague,  clumsy  sort  of  way,  they 
understood,  and  pleaded  with  her. 

Then  back  to  the  first  verse.  And  again  she  held 
the  child  in  her  arms  and  sang  to  it,  quietly,  tenderly, 
and  oh,  how  sweetly  !  cuddling  it  close  to  her  with 
little  ripples  of  soft,  happy  laughter.  And  while  the 
audience  held  their  breath  and  leaned  forward  as  if 
they  feared  to  lose  one  note  of  that  perfect  song,  her 
voice  died  gently  into  silence,  and  she  slipped  from 
the  stage  so  quickly  that,  before  they  had  time  to 
recover  themselves  and  applaud,  she  was  gone,  and 
the  little  boys  in  lavender  court  suits  were  slipping 
another  name  into  the  bulletin  boards. 

"  Two  steins,  sir !  "   cried  the  waiter. 

Both  men  were  rather  glad  of  the  interruption; 
your  Anglo-Saxon  hates  to  be  caught  off  his  guard 
emotionally.  They  lit  their  cigars,  and  then  Wen- 
dall  turned  to  his  companion. 

"Just  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  Fred,"  said  he, 
"  which  do  you  think  was  the  real  woman  ?  " 

"Neither,  of  course,"  answered  Conway,  "but 
she 's  a  mighty  good  actress." 

Wendall  shook  his  head. 

"  You  may  be  right,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "  prob- 
ably you  are  ;  but  I  think  on  the  whole  I  should 
say  both." 

'43 


Dead  Folks'  Hour 


DEAD  FOLKS'   HOUR 

HOARY  the  grass  in  the  churchyard  still ; 
A  round,  red  moon  peers  over  the  hill. 
A  cricket  cries  like  a  soul  in  fear, 
No  other  sound  of  live  thing  near. 
The  white  frost  shines ;  the  dead  wind  sighs  ; 
The  cold  stars  gleam  in  the  silent  skies  ; 
A  hand-like  cloud  blinds  the  moon's  eye  red; 
Out  from  their  graves  peer  the  sheeted  dead  ! 
Then  up  from  their  narrow  cells  they  pass 
To  keep  the  hour  of  the  Hallow  mass. 
Strange  is  the  company  huddled  there, 
The  old,  the  young,  the  foul,  and  the  fair. 
Warm  and  sweet  seems  the  frost  wind's  breath 
To  the  icy  dampness  underneath. 
They  smooth  their  shrouds,  and  talk  and  jest, 
For  silence  reigns  in  the  earth's  wide  breast. 
All  too  soon  do  the  minutes  pass 
Of  the  Dead  Folks'  hour  of  Hallow  mass. 
One  o'clock  !     Their  time  is  done  ! 
Back  to  his  grave  creeps  every  one. 
But  one  begged  God  in  vain  to  stay  — 
A  mother,  buried  but  yesterday. 

The  night  wind  sighs  through  the  churchyard  still, 
And  the  red  moon  sinks  behind  the  hill. 


144 


Not  without  Precedent 


NOT  WITHOUT  PRECEDENT 

THE  Christmas  tree  stood  despoiled  of  its  gaudy 
adornment  of  tinsel  and  bonbons,  with  only 
here  and  there  a  few  as  yet  unextinguished  tapers 
that  sputtered  aimless  protests  against  the  fate  that 
was  soon  to  overtake  them. 

The  younger  members  of  the  cousinhood,  after 
bidding  affectionate  farewell  to  their  hobby  horses, 
their  newly  obtained  families  of  dolls,  and  the  other 
fascinating  acquisitions  of  the  evening,  had  been  led 
off  reluctantly  to  bed,  there  to  be  the  prey  of  con- 
flicting forces  —  drowsiness,  with  its  seductive  invita- 
tion on  the  one  hand,  versus  the  glittering  allurements 
of  the  real  world  on  the  other. 

There  were  only  two  persons  in  the  room  now  — 
a  tall  young  fellow  of  twenty  and  a  girl  of  about  the 
same  age.  They  were  sitting,  looking  into  the  fire 
—  where  else  can  one  look  when  there  is  a  fire  ?  — 
which  had  softened  its  boisterously  cheerful  mood  of 
a  few  minutes  before  to  one  of  reverie ;  the  memory 
of  former  Christmas  eves,  sweet,  though  fraught,  per- 
haps, with  melancholy,  having  succeeded  its  whole- 
souled  participation  in  present  festivities. 

The  boy  was  speaking.  "  I  read  a  story  to-day," 
he  said  musingly,  "  and  I  'm  going  to  tell  it  to  you. 
It  was  about  a  man  who,  when  he  was  strolling 
through  a  field  once  upon  a  time,  saw  a  very  beauti- 
ful flower,  the  most  beautiful  he  had  ever  seen,  the 
10  145 


Not  without  Precedent 

only  one  of  the  kind,  so  he  firmly  believed,  in  the 
world.  <  If  I  could  only  have  this  flower,  I  would 
be  perfectly  happy,'  he  said  to  himself;  which  might 
have  seemed  strange  to  some,  since  he  had  never 
cared  much  for  flowers  before.  So  great  was  his 
desire  to  get  the  flower  for  his  very  own  that  he 
determined  to  transplant  it  to  the  little  plot  of  ground 
before  his  own  house.  But  then  he  reflected  that, 
having  had  no  garden  up  to  that  time  the  plant 
would  probably  die  before  he  could  prepare  the 
ground  for  its  reception.  Therefore  he  returned  to 
his  cottage,  worked  hard  for  a  time,  and  then  came 
to  dig  up  his  wonderful  plant.  But  this  time  so 
struck  was  he  with  its  marvellous  beauty  that  he  cried 
out,  c  What  a  shame  it  is  to  put  such  a  miracle  of 
Nature  in  so  mean  a  little  garden  plot  as  mine  is ! 
It  would  die  of  very  shame,  even  if  the  hardships  of 
wind  and  weather,  to  which  it  must  be  exposed,  did 
not  cause  some  day  its  death.  Rather,  I  will  abandon 
my  mean  cottage  and  have  a  beautiful  mansion 
erected  with  a  conservatory,  which  will  at  once  pro- 
tect and  afford  a  suitable  dwelling-place  for  my  price- 
less flower.'  All  of  which  he  did;  but  when  he 
returned  again  to  the  field  where  the  flower  had 
bloomed,  it  was  no  longer  there." 

"  What  a  foolish  man  !  "  said  the  girl,  lightly. 

The  young  man  looked  in  her  face  earnestly. 
"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

u  Yes,  if  he  could  have  the  flower  for  the  taking," 
she  answered.  "  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  said  the  young  man, 
half  offended. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  gravely,  but  with  just  a 
146 


Not  without  Precedent 

faint  suggestion  of  smiling  in  her  eyes.  "Why  at 
you,  Fred  ?  I  was  only  laughing  at  the  silly  hero  of 
your  story." 

The  young  man  looked  rather  disconcerted,  and 
fingered  the  poker  nervously  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  commenced  doggedly,  "  You  may  be  only  joking 
with  me,  but  I  am  going  to  take  you  at  your  word." 
He  drew  a  bit  nearer,  and  began  speaking  in  a  lower 
voice,  but  hurriedly  and  earnestly.  The  girl's  cheek 
became  flushed,  perhaps  because  she  had  bent  over  a 
little  nearer  to  the  fire. 


In  the  Hills 


IN   THE   HILLS 

IN  pomp  of  scarlet  and  a-gleam  with  gold, 
The  Hills,  like  kings  besieged,  await  the  bands 
Of  Winter's  host  grown  great  with  power,  and  bold, 
Whose  path  was  ruin  'cross  the  Summer  lands. 

The  tyrant's  will  the  Northwind's  sword  fulfils  ; 

The  henchman,  Frost,  in  pity  will  not  spare. 
In  trampled  scarlet  stand  the  conquered  hills, 

Shorn  of  their  glory,  of  their  beauty  bare. 

Yet  they  are  monarchs  still,  and  when  the  Night 
Has  drawn  the  splendid  curtains  of  the  west, 

She  brings  them  purple,  with  the  sunset  light 
Gold  on  their  brows,  their  kingship's  manifest. 


148 


The  Other  Man's  Wife 


THE   OTHER  MAN'S  WIFE 

MRS.  BENTON  and  Mrs.  Wheeler  no  longer 
spoke  to  each  other.  Their  husbands, 
bound  together  by  mutual  affliction,  were  staying  at 
the  club,  waiting  resignedly  for  the  clouds  of  domes- 
tic trouble  to  blow  over.  It  had  all  come  about 
through  the  cursed  similarity  between  the  two  halves 
of  a  double  house. 

Benton  and  Wheeler  had  been  friends  for  years, 
and  each  choosing  a  wife  at  the  same  time,  they  had 
decided  to  keep  up  the  intimacy  by  renting  the  ad- 
joining halves  of  a  double  house.  The  arrangement 
worked  beautifully.  Their  wives  developed  a  great 
fondness,  even  to  the  point  of  matching  samples  for 
each  other  at  bargain  sales ;  and  many  were  the  excit- 
ing rubbers  of  whist  fought  out  during  long  winter 
evenings.  The  only  trace  of  their  prenuptial  freedom 
which  remained  was  the  monthly  club  smokes,  where 
they  found  old  friends  and  much  pleasure  of  a  kind 
different  from  that  of  their  own  firesides.  Punctually 
at  one,  they  would  always  drive  home  together, 
simultaneously  unlatch  their  doors,  with  a  "  Jolly 
evening,  was  n't  it,  old  man  ?  "  and  decorously  mount 
to  their  conjugal  partners. 

On  a  certain  night,  however,  the  unruffled  staid- 
ness  of  the  gathering  at  the  club  was  violently  dis- 
turbed. Dicky  Asquith,  the  most  popular  and  well- 
loved  man  of  the  brotherhood,  returned  to  New  York 

149 


The  Other  Man's  Wife 

after  a  year's  absence  on  his  yacht  in  the  Mediterra- 
nean. In  his  honor  had  the  fatted  calf  been  killed. 
Many  an  old  bottle  had  been  ruthlessly  torn  from  its 
dusty  retreat  on  cool  shelves  to  contribute  its  little  to 
the  conviviality  of  the  occasion. 

When,  at  one  o'clock,  the  two  benedicts  rose 
unsteadily  and  reluctantly  to  take  their  sorrowful 
departure,  the  whole  room  cried  out  vehemently, 
with  many  shouts  of  "Shysters,"  "Wife's  apron- 
strings."  Asquith  himself,  climbing  down  from  the 
piano  on  which  he  had  been  perched  as  toastmaster, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes  begged  them  not  to  leave  him 
so  soon,  when  he  had  just  got  back.  They  hesi- 
tated, and  were  lost. 

At  three  the  meeting  broke  up.  Sleepy  waiters 
assisted  the  helpless  into  cabs.  In  many  cases  the 
blind  led  the  blind.  Long-suffering  cabbies  tucked 
away  obstreperous  arms  and  legs,  picked  up  wander- 
ing hats,  and  asked  patiently  where  to  go.  Save  for 
the  rattle  of  the  dispersing  cabs,  the  city  was  silent. 

The  bumping  over  the  cobbles,  as  they  turned  into 
a  cross  street,  awakened  Benton  and  Wheeler  to  the 
fact  that  they  were  almost  home.  Painfully  they 
extracted  themselves  from  the  common  knot  into 
which  they  had  slipped.  Bracing  themselves  for  the 
ordeal  about  to  come,  they  endeavored  to  straighten 
rumpled  ties  and  hats.  From  the  second  story  of 
each  house  a  light  burned  dimly.  The  cabman, 
being  paid,  drove  off,  leaving  them  to  their  fate. 

No  railing  separated  the  doors,  and  with  arms 
locked  for  mutual  support  they  mounted  the  steps. 
After  much  searching,  the  two  latchkeys  were  pro- 
duced. Then  Benton  dropped  his,  and  both  men 


The  Other  Man's  Wife 

searched  on  their  knees,  with  many  matches,  to 
recover  it.  This  made  no  little  noise  j  neither  was 
the  quest  for  the  keyholes  inaudible.  At  last  both 
doors  stood  open.  The  men  turned,  fervently  wished 
each  other  "  God-speed,"  and  entered  each  the  other's 
house. 

Strange  was  the  similarity  of  scenes  within.  At 
the  foot  of  each  staircase  sat  a  man  with  fumbling 
fingers  unlacing  his  shoes.  At  the  top  stood  a  stiff 
figure  draped  in  white,  upon  whose  face  was  an 
expression  of  stern  and  freezing  contempt.  With- 
out perceiving  their  awaiting  fates,  each  man,  grasp- 
ing firmly  the  banister,  commenced  the  weary  climb. 

"John,"  said  Mrs.  Wheeler,  when  the  toiling 
figure  had  nearly  reached  her,  "  you  are  intoxicated." 

Too  much  surprised  to  speak,  Benton  looked  up 
at  her  with  open  mouth.  Then  only  did  Mrs. 
Wheeler  see  her  mistake.  Clasping  her  draperies 
close  around  her,  with  a  horrified  shriek  she  fled  into 
the  echoing  darkness.  Simultaneously  from  the  next 
house  came  a  similar  sound.  Half  falling,  Benton 
clattered  downstairs,  and  collided  violently  with 
Wheeler,  outside  the  door.  For  a  moment  each 
man  leaned  against  the  wall,  recovering. 

"  John,"  said  Benton,  gravely,  "  your  wife 's  wait- 
in*  for  you." 

u  So  's  yours,  James." 

Then  silence.  "  John,  s'pose  we  could  get  into 
the  club  as  late  as  this  ? " 

"  Less  try,  James." 

With  arms  locked  for  mutual  support,  the  two 
descended  the  step  into  enveloping  blackness. 


Captives 


CAPTIVES 

MY  brain  is  like  a  prison  cage, 
Its  thronging  thoughts  like  birds. 
Captives  are  they,  who  may  not  find 
The  outer  air  —  in  words. 

They  were  not  born  for  narrow  place  — 
God's  own  free  singing  things  ! 
And  'gainst  the  bars  of  Silence,  they 
Beat  ever  with  fierce  wings. 

Some  day  —  who  knows  ?  —  at  last  will  end 
Their  bondage  —  kept  so  long, 
And  from  the  opened  cage  they  '11  gain 
Their  liberty  of  Song. 


152 


The  Other  Life 


THE   OTHER  LIFE 

PRECISELY  how  it  happened  the  Elder  Tramp 
could  not  imagine.  He  had  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing  before.  There  lay  the  Kid,  stretched 
out  on  the  snow,  motionless  —  the  Kid,  whom  he 
had  toted  all  the  way  from  Chicago.  He  had  showed 
him  how  to  lie  most  easily  on  the  truck  journals  and 
to  hold  on  to  the  brake-rod  above  his  head  where  the 
steam-pipe  keeps  it  warm  in  winter;  had  slept  with 
him  in  freight  cars,  and  served  thirty  days  with  him 
on  a  charge  of  vagrancy. 

The  Elder  Tramp  ran  his  hand  through  his  griz- 
zled hair  and  looked  up  at  the  starry  sky.  Then  he 
listened  to  the  noise  of  the  river  on  the  other  side  of 
the  embankment. 

"  Clean  gone,"  he  muttered  in  a  dazed  way. 
"  His  arm  clean  gone.  He  'd  'a*  bled  to  death,  if  I 
had  n't  tied  up  the  stump  with  a  twisted  rag.  But 
he  's  hurted  inside,  too  —  must  be  —  don't  see  why 
he  was  n't  all  hashed  up.  He  must  'a'  dozed  —  he  's 
only  a  kid  — an'  to  be  on  the  road  two  weeks  steady. 
But  'e  said  he  must  get  home.  Yes,  he  must  ha* 
dozed  —  with  the  wheels  o'  thirty  cars  waitin*  to 
chew  'im  up,  dozed  and  got  'is  arm  caught  in  the 
wheel.  'E  must  'a'  laid  between  the  rails.  There 's 
where  I  found  'im.  'E  's  goin'  pretty  fast." 

The  Elder  Tramp  went  off  to  a  little  distance, 
and  came  back  with  his  hands  full  of  snow.     With 
it  he  began  to  rub  the  pale  face. 
153 


The  Other  Life 

"  This  ain't  so  full  o*  cinders,"  he  said  softly. 

Presently  there  was  a  rumbling  sound  in  the 
distance.  The  Tramp  jumped  up,  shouting :  "  A 
passenger  train.  There's  a  chance  then."  He 
rushed  to  a  pile  of  new  ties  near  by,  and  began  to 
strip  off  the  fringes  of  bark.  The  train  was  swiftly 
approaching.  Now  he  had  an  armful  and  deposited 
it  in  the  middle  of  the  track.  He  struck  a  match. 
The  train  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and  the 
gleam  of  its  headlight  already  on  the  rails.  He 
shielded  the  flame  and  applied  it.  A  feeble  fire 
sprang  up.  It  grew.  Now  the  wind  would  not 
extinguish  it.  Still  he  shielded  it.  The  train  was 
fifty  yards  away.  Still  he  squatted  there,  gazing 
curiously  at  the  eye  of  the  advancing  engine.  Now 
he  held  up  his  arm  with  an  imperious  repellent  ges- 
ture. But  the  pilot  of  the  engine  dashed  it  aside. 

The  wheels  of  eight  brilliantly  lighted  cars  drew 
their  thunder  from  the  ground  and  flashed  by  in  a 
whirlwind. 

The  engine  had  thrown  up  from  the  stack  a  par- 
ticularly large  and  brilliant  spark.  It  descended  in 
a  graceful,  illuminated  curve  and  fell  by  the  form  of 
the  Kid.  Hissing  and  sputtering,  it  melted  a  little 
hollow  into  the  snow,  and  seemed  to  glow  with  greater 
intensity  before  it  became  black. 

At  that  instant  the  Kid's  heart  beat  with  a  fierce 
spasm.  Then  it  fluttered  —  stopped.  The  snow  of 
the  world  had  chilled  out  the  last  fire  in  its  core. 


154 


The  Autumn  Call 


THE   AUTUMN  CALL 

O  heart,  my  heart,  the  world  is  weary-wise, 
My  only  resting-place  is  your  deep  eyes." 


THERE  's  a  sobbing  in  the  valley, 
There  's  a  moaning  on  the  peak, 
And  the  myriad  winds  still  dally, 
Summoning  the  heart  they  seek. 

Still  the  myriad  winds  are  calling 
Out  from  all  the  quarters  round, 

And  the  russet  leaves  are  falling 
Broken-hearted,  to  the  ground. 


II 

Then  open  the  places  of  heaven's  last  bounding, 

And  let  the  wild  rivers  run  down  to  the  sea ; 
Stretch  open  your  ears  to  the  trumpet  peal  sounding, 

Give  heed  to  the  ever  eternal  "  to  be." 
The  hill  gates  are  open,  the  bronzed  leaves  are  falling, 

The  season  is  nearing  that  bids  us  away ; 
Farewell   to   thee,  home-haunts,  the    mad  world  is 
calling, 

And  stern  is  the  mandate  and  brooks  no  delay. 

Still  feckless  are  we  to  the  call  that  goes  ringing 
From  river  to  ocean,  from  valley  to  crown  5 
155 


The  Autumn  Call 

The  music  of  billow,  the  bird-throated  singing, 

The  world-hazes  cover  and  world-hummings  drown. 

All  down  through  the  mazes  of  Nature's  adorning 
The  keen  winds  are  shrilling  their  pitiless  cry, 

And  we  must  be  off  on  the  wings  of  the  morning, 
So   hail   to   thee,  wild  winds,  and    home-haunts, 
good-by. 

Oh  !  taste  of  the  meadow  !  Oh  J  scent  of  high  places, 

That  tempers  the  nerving  salt  sting  of  the  sea  ! 
The  mad  world  will  pilfer  the  tan  from  our  faces,  — 

The  mad  world  that  harps  its  eternal  "  to  be." 
Farewell  to  the  salt  seas  that  ring  the  fair  harbor, 

Farewell  to  the  brook  that  hangs  white  on  the  hill ; 
Farewell  to  the  slope  climbing  green  to  the  arbor, 

Farewell  to  the  love  that  no  farewell  can  kill. 

The  hills  are  behind  us,  the  seas  are  behind  us, 

The  dismantled  schooner  lies  hull  down  to  lee ; 
And  soon  we  will  be  where  the  past  cannot  find  us, 

A  long  way  from  hill  and  from  sorrowing  sea. 
Then  let  the  campfires  die  down  to  dull  grayness, 

Abandon  the  embers  by  forest  and  trail, 
And  cry  with  a  sob  and  a  pretence  of  gayness, 

u  All  hail  to  thee,  mad  world,  and  once  more,  all 
hail !  " 

in 

Then  hark  to  the  wind  songs, 

The  myriad  wind  songs, 
Give  heed  to  their  call,  and  throw  open  the  gate ; 

Farewell  to  thee,  river, 

And  haste  thee,  a-quiver, 
Far  down  to  the  sea,  for  the  hour  grows  late. 


The  Autumn  Call 

The  wind  songs  are  humming, 

Their  voices  are  summing 
The  clans  of  the  Faithful  from  mountain  to  plain  ; 

Then  heed  ye  the  wind  songs, 

The  myriad  wind  songs, 
And  haste  ye  away  to  the  mad  world  again. 


157 


White  Roses 


WHITE  ROSES 

THE  music  came  to  them  faintly,  out  there 
under  the  trees.  The  warm  darkness  seemed 
to  have  grown  sensuously  tender  with  it.  From 
where  they  were  sitting  they  could  see  the  yellow 
lights  of  the  house  blaze  out  into  the  night,  and 
sometimes  over  the  wail  of  the  violins  came  the 
crowded  sound  of  the  chatter  of  many  voices.  The 
little  girl  in  the  white  gown  had  taken  off  her  long 
gloves,  and  had  laid  them  limply  across  her  knees. 
She  bent  forward,  smoothing  the  wrinkles  out  of 
them  with  a  kind  of  nervous  indifference.  The  light 
of  a  fairy  lamp  hung  in  the  leaves  above  her,  fell  on 
her  soft  hair,  and  caressed  the  smooth,  babyish  round- 
ness of  her  throat  and  breast.  Lorrimer,  leaning 
back  in  the  shadow,  regarded  her  with  a  sort  of  pity- 
ing admiration  —  "  Poor  little  thing  !  "  he  thought. 
As  he  watched  her,  he  felt  himself  suddenly  feeling 
very  old.  He  envied  the  little  girl  in  an  amused, 
careless  way.  "Would  you  mind  if  I  lit  a  cigar- 
ette ?  "  he  inquired.  He  did  n't  care  about  smoking, 
but  he  felt  the  conversational  blank  must  be  filled 
somehow. 

The  girl  turned  to  him  quickly.  "  Why  are  you 
so  formal  ?  Have  I  ever  cared  ?  Have  I  ever 
stopped  you  doing  anything  you  wanted  ? " 

Lorrimer  smiled  indulgently.  It  was  his  theory 
that  a  man  should  always  indulge  women  as  long  as 

153 


White  Roses 

it  did  not  give  him  too  much  trouble.  There  was  a 
moment's  silence.  The  sob  of  the  waltz-music  thrilled 
the  night,  and  made  it  pulsate  with  answering  rap- 
ture. u  Youth  !  Youth  !  "  the  violins  seemed  to  be 
sighing.  u  So  soon  lost !  So  soon  lost !  Love  and 
youth !  Love  and  youth ! "  The  music  caught  at 
the  girl's  heart  convulsively.  She  crushed  the  soft 
gloves  between  her  hands.  "  It  is  always  this  way," 
she  said  with  hurried  vehemence.  "  I  do  all  the  car- 
ing, and  you  —  " 

"  Is  this  apropos  of  cigarettes  or  of  noth- 
ing ?  "  Lorrimer  asked  lazily.  He  wanted  to  avert 
the  melodrama  if  possible.  The  girl  did  not  hear 
him. 

"Look,"  she  went  on.  "You  are  older  than  I. 
You  know  the  world  and  people.  Perhaps  I  am  not 
like  all  the  others.  Maybe  I  amuse  you.  Perhaps 
you  have  never  realized  it,  but  you  have  made  me 
love  you.  Do  you  understand,  love  you  ?  I  know  I 
have  n't  any  decency  or  I  would  n't  tell  this  to  you. 
I  don't  care  for  decency  or  anything  else.  I  love 
you ! "  Her  voice  shrilled  softly  with  the  defiance 
of  desperation. 

Lorrimer  threw  his  half-smoked  cigarette  away. 
He  was  enough  of  a  man  to  be  more  sorry  than 
flattered  by  what  he  had  heard.  He  would  have 
given  much  to  have  known  the  right  thing  to  say ; 
a  feeling  of  shame  came  over  him,  and  a  wordless 
tenderness.  The  other  had  covered  her  face,  and 
was  crying  softly  and  brokenly.  Lorrimer  drew 
away  one  of  the  little  cold  hands,  still  wet  with  her 
tears. 

"  Don't  cry,"  he  said  with  gentle  firmness.    "  You 


White  Roses 

really  must  n't,  you  know.  How  are  we  to  go  back 
and  face  all  those  people  if  you  do  ?  There  !  Now 
we  can  talk  it  all  over  quietly,  and  perhaps  we  can 
understand  each  other  better.  You  say  you  love  me. 
Can  you  tell  me  why,  —  at  first,  I  mean  ?  " 

She  had  straightened  up,  and  had  stopped  crying, 
although  her  lips  were  still  working  tremulously. 
There  were  white  roses  pinned  to  her  gown  and  tak- 
ing one,  she  began  to  tear  it  to  pieces,  petal  by  petal. 
After  a  little  pause  she  answered  him. 

"  It  was  your  dancing  at  first,  and  then  —  then 
other  things.  And  then  I  knew  that  you  were  my 
ideal."  Lorrimer  could  have  laughed  there  in  the 
shadow,  but  the  pathos  of  the  little  fluttering  hands 
deterred  him. 

"And  I  am  that  now,  and  you  want  to,  marry 
me  ?  "  He  asked  the  question  quite  simply. 

The  girl  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  bravely. 
"Yes,"  she  said.  "You  are  the  best  and  finest 


"  Wait  !  "  Lorrimer  said.  "  Wait  !  You  don't 
know  me  yet."  He  had  decided  that  she  should 
know.  "  I  suppose  that  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that 
I*  m  none  of  these  good  things,  you  would  n't  believe 
me." 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly.  "  No," 
she  said.  "  I  won't  —  " 

"  Of  course  not.  We  never  believe  anything  evil 
about  our  ideals,  until  we  have  ceased  to  have  them. 
Nevertheless,  it  's  not  true  —  I  'm  very  far  from  being 
even  respectably  virtuous,  and  certainly  I  'm  not  fine 
in  any  way.  There  is  really  no  reason  why  you 
should  make  anything  more  of  me  than  of  the 

160 


White  Roses 

twenty-odd  other  men  who  ask  you  to  dance,  and 
send  you  flowers  occasionally." 

"Ah!  But  I  know  you  too  well  to  believe  you 
now.  You  are  n't  like  any  of  those  others  —  not 
like  any  one  else  in  the  whole  world.  How  can  you 
be  ?  I  don't  love  any  of  them,  and  I  do  love  you." 
Her  eyes  were  shining  like  stars,  and  leaning  forward, 
she  rested  her  hand  on  his  knee.  Lorrimer  saw  that 
another  method  of  procedure  was  necessary. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  will  you  allow  me  to  talk 
to  you  just  as  your  father  might  —  I'm  almost  old 
enough  to  be  —  or  at  least  your  older  brother  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  girl  quietly.     "  Go  on." 

"  Do  you  know  you  don't  really  love  this  —  er  — 
person  we  have  been  talking  about  ?  He  is  n't  your 
c  ideal '  at  all.  He  merely  happened  to  step  into  your 
life  when  you  were  in  need  of  a  figure  to  wear  the 
costume  your  imagination  had  made,  and  masquerade 
as  your  ideal.  Very  soon  you  would  have  seen  for 
yourself  how  badly  the  costume  fitted  —  and  then  you 
would  have  blamed  him  for  being  an  impostor.  It  *s 
not  me  you  're  loving,  dear,  but  your  idea  of  me,  and  if 
I  let  you  go  on  thinking  as  you  do,  it  would  merely 
hurt  us  both." 

u  Why  do  you  talk  to  me  in  this  way  ? "  she  broke 
out  passionately. 

u  Because  you  are  a  sweet,  simple  little  girl,  and  I 
care  for  you  too  much  to  let  you  think  you  love  me, 
and  that  your  heart  is  broken  because  I  can't  feel  for 
you  in  the  same  way." 

a  If  it  is  not  love  —  what  is  it,  then  ?  "  she  asked, 
almost  harshly. 

"Just  a  part  of  your  youth,  little  one,"  he  an- 
«  161 


White  Roses 

swered  gravely.  "  Just  a  part  of  the  moonlight,  and 
roses,  and  white  frocks,  and  waltz-music.  A  very 
sweet  and  beautiful  part,  and  something  you'll  re- 
member some  day  very  tenderly  —  but  no  more  love 
than  those  lights  in  there  where  they  're  dancing  are 
the  sun.  Can  you  believe  me  ?  "  His  tone  had  be- 
come very  earnest. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  listlessly,  "  I  believe  you  — 
anything,  always." 

They  sat  silent  again  until  she  had  pulled  the  last 
petal  from  the  rose  in  her  hand ;  then  she  asked,  very 
quietly  and  slowly :  "  Do  you  think  I  '11  ever  know 
this  other  —  love  —  now  ?  " 

Lorrimer  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it. 
"  I  can  ask  no  greater  happiness  for  my  dear  friend 
than  that,  some  time,  she  may,"  he  said. 

Some  one  came  through  the  trees  behind  them  just 
then.  "  Oh,  here  you  are ! "  said  the  new-comer. 
u  They  're  just  going  to  begin  the  cotillion,  and  I  've 
been  looking  for  you  everywhere." 

The  girl  stood  up,  sweeping  the  white  rose  petals 
from  her  lap  as  she  did  so.  "  I  'm  all  ready,"  she  said. 
"  I  'm  sorry  you  had  such  a  bother  to  find  me.  Mr. 
Lorrimer  has  just  been  teaching  me  a  new  game. 
Good-by,  Mr.  Lorrimer,"  she  said  to  him,  u  thank 
you  so  much  for  the  lesson.  I  'm  afraid  I  was  very 
stupid  at  first,  but  —  I  —  I  —  understand  perfectly 
now ;  "  and  she  laughed. 

When  they  had  gone,  Lorrimer  settled  back  in  his 
old  seat  again.  "I'm  glad  she  laughed,"  he  said, 
half  aloud.  "  When  a  woman  laughs,  because  she  is 
•afraid  she  will  cry  if  she  does  n't,  she  has  learned 
how  to  take  care  of  herself."  His  eye  fell  on  the 
162 


White  Roses 

flowerless   rose-stem  on   the   seat   beside   him.     He 
took  it  into  his  hand  for  a  moment. 

u  Poor  little  rose,"  he  said  softly.  "  I  am  sorry 
it  had  to  be  pulled  to  pieces  ;  it  was  so  pretty  —  too 
pretty  to  last,"  he  added  under  his  breath. 


163 


Pagan  to  Priest 


PAGAN  TO   PRIEST 

AYE ;  very  fair  the  place  you  tell  — 
The  Holy  Hosts,  the  changeless  light, 
The  rush  of  song,  the  sweep  of  wings  — 
All  glorified,  all  pure,  all  white. 

But  I  —  I  wonder  if  perchance, 
Sometimes,  when  all  is  done,  is  said, 
My  heart  would  long  for  sight  again 
Of  one  hot  pulsing  bit  of  red. 

If  more  than  all  the  lights  and  psalms 
That  will  be  time  that  has  no  end, 
I  'd  crave  the  clasp  of  one  warm  hand, 
The  sound  of  one  voice  saying  u  Friend." 

I  am  not  wise  in  holy  things, 
I  only  know  that  youth  is  fleet  — 
I  ask  no  far  stars,  white  and  cold, 
While  skies  are  warm  and  love  is  sweet. 


Friendship  above  Par 


FRIENDSHIP  ABOVE   PAR 

MARGARET  and  Randall  when  they  were 
nine  and  ten,  respectively,  had  enough 
originality  and  imagination  to  supply  several  grown 
up  persons,  and  yet  leave  an  amount  over  that  would 
make  them  more  than  ordinary  children.  It  was 
Randall  who  had  the  originality,  and  Margaret  the 
imagination.  As  a  proof  of  his  originality,  he  in- 
vented a  system  by  which  every  one  was  given  a 
definite  numerical  valuation,  but  which  like  stocks 
was  liable  to  rise  and  fall.  He  started  by  assigning 
to  every  new  acquaintance  five  hundred,  then  for  all 
sins  of  omission  and  commission  he  subtracted  cer- 
tain definite  sums,  and  for  every  little  act  of  kindness 
or  generosity  he  added.  Every  virtue  and  every  vice 
had  its  minus  or  plus  value.  What  he  did  when 
any  one  got  to  absolute  zero,  he  never  told ;  very 
probably  he  dropped  their  acquaintance. 

Margery,  when  he  met  her,  went  through  this  same 
valuation.  They  were  visiting  neighbors,  and  after 
an  introduction  made  and  strengthened  over  a  picture- 
book,  they  saw  each  other  frequently.  In  the  first 
week  Margery's  stock  valuation  had  gone  up  to  six  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five,  and  during  the  next  week,  be- 
cause she  could  throw  a  ball  almost  as  well  as  Randall, 
she  went  up  sixty-four  more  points.  All  this  without  a 
fall.  This  was  unparalleled  in  Randall's  experience. 
Never  had  any  one's  value  risen  without  receiving 

165 


Friendship  above  Par 

occasional  set-backs,  for  so  far  he  had  met  no  one 
perfect.  So  it  was  already  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight, 
and  love,  you  know,  has  broken  down  more  complicated 
systems  than  this.  And  it  was  love  on  both  sides  too. 
For,  after  all,  originality  and  imagination  are  very 
much  of  the  same,  and  Margaret  found  that  with  his 
gift  of  originality  he  could  invent  more  stories  about 
the  pictures  in  the  book  than  she  could  with  her  im- 
agination. So  immediately  she  fell  captive,  and  took 
no  pains  to  hide  the  fact.  Before  the  book  was  finished 
she  even  allowed  him  to  wipe  his  fingers  on  her  hand- 
kerchief. "  You  have  forgotten  yours,"  she  said. 

"  Boys  never  have  them,"  he  explained. 

She  thought  the  matter  over  for  several  minutes, 
and  then  she  said,  "You  can  always  borrow  mine." 
This  was  so  delicately  put  that  with  the  obtuseness 
of  his  sex  he  quite  overlooked  its  meaning.  It  was 
Margaret's  complete  and  unconditional  surrender. 

It  would  be  a  long  story  to  follow  their  companion- 
ship through  the  days  that  followed.  Margaret  de- 
serted the  others  with  whom  she  had  played  before, 
and  learned  to  storm  block  forts  with  colored  marbles, 
that  were  at  one  moment  cavalry  and  the  next  can- 
non balls ;  to  make  siege  guns  out  of  the  elderberry 
bush,  and  to  lay  out  a  cemetery  for  the  soldiers, 
using  dominoes  for  headstones.  The  game  of  im- 
prisoned princess  followed  this,  and  brought  about 
their  only  quarrel,  as  to  whether  the  prince  ought  to 
die  or  not,  after  rescuing  the  princess  from  the  fury 
of  ten  dragons.  Randall  thought  that  he  ought  to 
live ;  Margaret  thought  he  ought  to  die  of  his  wounds. 
They  finally  compromised  by  having  him  die  every 
fourth  time  they  played. 

166 


Friendship  above  Par 

All  this  time  they  had  both  worked  the  evaluation 
system,  but  separately,  for  Randall  had  explained  it 
fully  to  Margaret.  At  the  end  of  each  week  Ran- 
dall would  make  public  Margaret's  value,  and  Mar- 
garet, Randall's.  You  can  readily  see  the  result. 
Imagine  yourself  in  love  with  some  one,  and  every 
week  calmly  calcukting  how  much  she  has  risen  or 
fallen  in  your  estimation.  In  such  a  case  Cupid  has 
a  way  of  adding  by  multiplication.  By  the  middle  of 
the  summer  they  were  both  up  in  the  thousands,  and 
even  in  the  quarrel  over  the  princess  game  they  only 
dropped  ten  points  apiece. 

u  Of  course  she  Jd  want  him  to  die  for  her,"  said 
Randall,  by  way  of  excusing  her. 

"  It  's  only  right  that  he  should  live  after  doing  so 
much,"  said  Margaret. 

Finally,  when  the  numbers  became  so  large  that 
they  were  difficult  to  handle,  they  agreed  to  stop. 

u  You  see  when  we  get  married  we  can  commence 
again,"  Randall  said.  "  For  after  that  there  will  be 
as  much  going  down  as  going  up."  When  they 
stopped  Margaret's  score  was  three  thousand  five 
hundred  and  eighty-one,  and  Randall's  three  thousand 
five  hundjj  'd  and  eighty.  The  difference  was  insisted 
upon  by  Kandall  out  of  politeness. 

At  last  the  day  for  departure  came.  Margaret  gave 
him  her  finest  handkerchief  with  her  monogram 
worked  in  pale  blue  silk,  her  photograph,  and  a 
promise  to  write  every  day.  Randall  gave  to  Mar- 
garet —  nobody  but  themselves  knows  what.  And 
her  mother  still  wonders  why  Margaret  turned  her 
left  cheek  always  for  the  good-night  kiss. 


Friendship  above  Par 

Fifteen  years  later,  a  man  who  had  gone  through 
school  and  college,  surveyed  railroads  and  built 
bridges  in  the  West,  and  whose  name  was  Randall 
Easton,  was  crossing  the  continent  on  the  Overland 
Limited  with  Miss  Margaret  Sutton.  They  had 
known  each  other  for  nearly  a  year,  so  Easton  sup- 
posed ;  but  Miss  Sutton,  adding  two  and  two  together, 
concluded  otherwise.  It  was  the  morning  of  the 
last  day,  and  they  were  eating  breakfast  together  in 
the  dining-car.  At  noon  they  were  due  in  San 
Francisco,  and  a  week  later  Easton  was  to  sail  for 
Japan.  Over  his  second  cup  of  coffee  he  asked  a 
question,  one  so  commonplace  that  it  is  asked  every 
hour  somewhere  in  the  world.  It  was  a  peculiar 
place  to  ask  such  a  question,  the  dining  car  of  an 
Overland  Limited,  but  perhaps  the  conventionality  of 
the  question  excused  the  commonplace  surroundings. 

At  any  rate,  it  was  answered  in  a  most  unconven- 
tional way.  Miss  Sutton  glanced  across  at  Easton 
and  said  slowly,  "  Are  n't  you  afraid  my  valuation 
will  fall  too  rapidly  from  three  thousand  five  hundred 
and  eighty-one  ? " 


1 68 


In  the  Dark 


IN   THE   DARK 

HAVE  you  ever  been  a-walkin*  on  the  grim  old 
hills  at  night, 
When  the  stars  go  twinkle-twinkle,  and  the  moon  is 

not  in  sight, 

And  the  big  trees  in  the  forest  seem  to  keep  out  all 
the  light  ? 

You   hear  a  noise    behind  you  and  you  start,  you 

don't  know  why, 
And  somethin'  in  the  darkness  seems  to  moan  and 

pass  you  by, 
And  the    blackness,  gettin*    blacker,  shuts  you  off 

from  all  the  sky. 

Our  ancestors  were  foolish  to  believe  in  sprite  or 

fay, 
Or  in  ghosts  that  love  the  darkest  night  and  always 

shun  the  day, 
And    that    spirits    of    the    dead    still   walk    in    their 

mysterious  way. 

Yet,  though  it 's  kind  o*  childish,  I  sometimes  feel  as 

though 
They  were  n't  so  wrong  as  we  believe,  and  maybe 

here  below 
There  's  more  around  us  in  the  dark  than  any  of  us 

know. 

169 


A  Reverie 


A  REVERIE 

THE  gas  was  turned  low,  and  the  soft  reddish 
glow  of  a  dying  wood  fire  filled  the  richly 
furnished  room,  giving  an  added  lustre  to  the  costly 
wine-set  of  Hungarian  ware  on  the  table  and  tingeing 
with  a  warm  light  the  marble  statuette  half  hiding  in 
a  corner.  In  strange  contrast  to  this  luxuriance  was 
the  occupant  of  the  room,  a  little  deformed  figure, 
hardly  more  than  half  the  height  of  an  ordinary  man, 
sunk  deep  in  a  great  thickly  upholstered  armchair, 
which  seemed  to  be  holding  him  in  its  embrace  and 
protecting  him  from  the  scorn  —  real  though  unex- 
pressed —  that  the  world  feels  for  the  weaker  ones  of 
its  great  family. 

He  had  been  reading  a  review,  cutting  the  leaves 
with  a  beautiful  little  pearl-hiked  dagger — some 
souvenir  of  foreign  travel,  no  doubt  —  but  the  oil  in 
the  piano  lamp  beside  him,  which  had  served  to  light 
his  page,  had  become  exhausted  and  the  magazine  had 
fallen  from  his  hand  and  lay  sprawling  on  the  hearth- 
rug by  his  chair.  Yet  he  still  sat  before  the  fire, 
toying  with  the  dainty  little  weapon  and  watching 
the  firelight  as  it  gleamed  on  the  eager jj  quivering 
blade.  Presently  he  took  up  from  the  table  beside 
him  a  bit  of  crumpled  paper  and  smoothed  it  out 
with  his  thin  white  hands.  It  was  the  programme 
of  an  amateur  theatrical  entertainment,  and  he  had 
taken  it  up  and  smoothed  it  out  in  the  same  way 

170 


A  Reverie 

several  times  before  since  his  return  that  evening; 
each  time  the  same  look  of  pain  had  overspread  his 
features.  Yet  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do,  his 
mind  persisted  in  reverting  to  it,  with  the  memory 
it  called  up. 

As  he  read  over  the  paper,  his  eyes  turned  instinc- 
tively to  the  photograph  of  a  girl  on  the  table,  which 
she  had  given  him  in  pity,  he  thought,  —  pity,  the 
rose  with  the  bitterest  thorns  of  all.  How  perfect 
she  had  looked  that  evening  !  Yes,  perfect,  that  was 
the  word ;  perfect  in  herself  physically,  first  of  all, 
and  then  perfect  in  accord  with  the  life  setting 
wherein  fate  had  placed  her.  He  went  over  in  his 
musing  the  different  scenes  of  the  little  play  in  which 
she  had  appeared  —  and  of  another  scene  to  which 
he  had  been  by  chance  an  unseen  audience  of  one. 
After  the  entertainment  was  over  he  had  stepped 
behind  the  improvised  scenery  to  wait  for  a  friend 
who  was  divesting  himself  of  his  make-up,  and  as  he 
did  so  he  saw  her  standing  with  a  tall  young  man 
amid  the  confusion  of  the  dim-lit  stage. 

The  man  had  been  congratulating  her  on  her 
success.  "  I  'm  afraid  you  did  n't  have  the  best  of 
support,"  he  said.  u  I  confess  I  was  terribly  afraid." 

"  You  were  a  little  too  conscious,"  the  girl  an- 
swered with  candor,  "  especially  in  the  love  scenes. 
But  you  Jll  improve  in  time,"  she  added  lightly. 

Then  the  young  man  had  leaned  toward  her,  saying 
something  in  a  low  voice,  and  the  watcher  in  the 
wing  had  become  aware  that  he  was  eavesdropping 
and  turned  away. 

He  could  not  say  that  a  hope  had  been  destroyed 
for  him,  for  he  had  never  had  the  remotest  hope  in 
171 


A  Reverie 

that  respect ;  yet,  for  all  that,  it  was  a  bitter  experi- 
ence. He  slowly  crumpled  the  paper  in  his  hand 
and  tossed  it  into  the  fire,  and  then  sat  watching  it 
flame  up,  redden,  and  finally  lose  its  identity  among 
the  glowing  embers  —  and  all  the  while  he  held  the 
little  dagger  in  one  hand,  now  and  then  pressing  its 
needle-like  point  into  the  other  till  he  almost  cried 
out  with  pain.  What  a  strange  turn  his  thought 
was  taking!  At  last  he  rose  wearily  and  laid  the 
weapon  on  the  table.  u  In  another  century  and 
another  land  I  might  have  done  it,"  he  thought,  — 
u  when  most  likely  I  should  have  been  dressed  in 
motley  and  served  as  the  plaything  of  royalty,  —  but 
now  one  can  do  nothing  but  become  cynical  and  rail 
against  all  the  first-born  of  Egypt." 


172 


A  Song  of  Sport 


A   SONG   OF  SPORT 

WHAT  ho,  my  boys,  for  the  leafless  woods, 
On  a  crisp  November  day, 
When  the  west  wind  sings   through  the  moss-hung 

oaks 

A  merry  roundelay. 
The  partridge  whirrs  and  the  quail  lie  close ; 

Our  dogs  work  fast  and  free. 
Sing  ho,  my  boys,  for  the  cracking  guns 
And  a  day  of  jollity  ! 

What  ho,  my  boys,  for  a  baying  pack 

And  a  coat  of  crimson  hue, 
With  champing  studs  and  fair,  hard  pulls 

With  Reynard  full  in  view. 
The  clear  horn  rings  on  the  cool  sweet  air, 

The  fences  fly  below, 
The  brush  shall  swing  at  our  belt  to-night. 

Sing  ho,  for  the  chase,  sing  ho  ! 

What  ho,  my  boys,  for  a  narrow  trail 

That  leads  to  a  placid  lake, 
Where  lilies  float  in  quietude 

And  hares  play  in  the  brake. 
The  hounds  give  voice  on  the  mountain  side, 

The  woods  re-echo  again, 
And  we  grasp  the  rifle  with  firm,  strong  hands. 

Sing  ho,  for  a  stag  of  ten  ! 
173 


A  Song  of  Sport 

What  ho,  for  sport,  whatever  it  be, 

Wherever  our  pleasure  calls, 
Be  it  gun,  or  horse,  or  field,  or  hounds, 

Or  rod  'neath  the  mist-hung  falls. 
Come,  fill  us  a  brimming  bumper  now, 

And  drain  it  deep  and  low. 
A  toast  to  sport,  a  toast  to  luck, 

Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  sing  ho ! 


174 


Duets 


DUETS 

THE  Sage  had  grown  weary  of  solving  problems 
in  celestial  mechanics.  Their  utter  simpli- 
city annoyed  him,  and  so,  rising  from  his  seat,  he 
walked  out  into  the  cool,  sweet  garden.  There, 
alone,  gazing  at  the  countless  stars  above,  he  tried  to 
solve  another  problem,  —  Eternity. 

And  afterward  four  of  the  King's  guard  bore  him 
away  to  the  madhouse. 

Two  met  on  a  highway.  "  Go  no  farther,"  said 
one. 

u  Know  you  not  who  I  am  ?  "  said  the  other.  "  I 
go  where  I  list ;  I  am  Love." 

"  You  can  go  no  farther,"  said  the  first.  "  I  am 
Death." 

Two  lovers  quarrelled  and  parted,  each  claiming 
the  other  was  in  the  wrong.  The  woman  married  a 
man  she  did  not  love ;  the  other  drank  himself  to 
death.  So  each  was  avenged. 

"  I  WILL  grant  you  two  desires,"  said  Life  to  the 
youth.  "  What  would  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  blind,"  said  the  youth.  "  Open  my  eyes." 
And  Life  did  so. 

u  Now  what  is  the  other  wish  ?  "  asked  Life. 

"  Make  me  blind  again,"  answered  the  youth. 
'75 


Duets 

"  I  HAVE  found  the  secret  of  the  universe,*'  said 
one. 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  the  other. 

"  But  you  are  only  a  lover,"  said  the  first. 

"And  you  are  only  a  scientist,"  answered  the 
second. 

LIFE  once  cast  away,  as  useless,  a  block  of  white 
marble ;  but  Sorrow,  finding  the  block,  began  to  labor 
upon  it. 

"Your  work  will  be  vain,"  said  Life,  contempt- 
ously. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  Sorrow  replied. 

And  after  many  years  Life  saw  that  Sorrow  from 
the  useless  marble  had  carved  out  the  figure  of  a 
strong  man. 


An  Epitaph 


AN  EPITAPH 

CLOSE-FOLDED  to  the  mountain's  heart 
Let  him  sleep  well,  sleep  long. 
The  voices  of  a  thousand  pines 
Be  for  his  slumber  song. 

O'er  him  shall  ferny  greennesses 

A  dauntless  verdure  set 
To  comfort  him  till  warm  rains  wake 

April's  first  violet. 

Here  to  the  tired  child  of  change, 

Through  days  that  shall  not  fail, 
Shall  come  the  summer's  last  Farewell, 

The  steadfast  spring's  All  hail ! 

And  he  shall  fear  no  evil  thing 

When  warrior  winds  awake ; 
I  think  their  mighty  hosts  will  pass 

More  gently  for  his  sake. 

So,  girt  by  list'ning  forests, 

And  hushed  by  breathless  song, 
Still  dreaming  down  the  pilgrim  years, 

He  shall  sleep  well  and  long. 

His  was  the  wand'rer's  wild  heart 

That  loved  not  bonds  and  bars  — 
Wildness  to  wildness  !     Rest !  while  burn 

The  watch-lights  of  the  stars. 

12  177 


Founded  on  Fact 


FOUNDED   ON   FACT 

THE  Woman  of  the  World  sat  at  the  piano. 
The  Boy  stood  beside  her,  bending  down 
to  her.  The  Woman  of  the  World  was  playing 
Schumann.  Her  throat  and  arms  gleamed  like  warm 
marble  in  the  soft  candlelight,  and  the  effect  against 
the  shadow  was  very  lovely.  Possibly  the  Woman 
of  the  World  knew  this.  At  any  rate,  she  ought  n't 
to  have  allowed  the  Boy  to  stand  there.  Being  a 
woman,  she  continued  to  allow  him;  but  from  a 
similar  reason  she  compromised  with  her  conscience 
and  changed  abruptly  from  the  Schumann  to  a  passion- 
less jingling  two-step.  The  sacrifice  was  heroic. 

"  Why  do  you  play  that  thing  ? "  asked  the 
Boy. 

The  Woman  of  the  World  made  some  answer. 
She  wished  she  had  no  conscience,  and  did  not  really 
like  the  Boy.  He  was  big  and  muscular,  with  a  face 
suggestive  of  all  the  Cardinal  Virtues  and  Pears'  soap. 
Lately  there  had  come  into  his  eyes  a  look  that  made 
her  a  little  sorry.  For  she  liked  him,  as  has  been 
said  previously.  The  blow  came  before  she  had  a 
chance  to  avert  it. 

u  Claudia,"  the  Boy  said,  —  it  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  called  her  by  her  Christian  name,  and  he 
said  it  with  a  bashful  tenderness,  —  u  I  love  you  — 
will  you  marry  me  ?  "  The  Boy  bent  very  low,  almost 
touching  her  hair  with  his  lips. 

I78 


Founded  on  Fact 

There  is  always  one  subject  that  a  man  may  be 
sure  will  interest  a  woman.  There  is  always  one 
statement  that  will  not  grow  commonplace  through 
frequent  repetition.  The  love  scenes  are  really  the 
only  ones  in  the  comedy  of  life  that  most  women 
enjoy  acting  for  their  own  sake. 

But  Claudia  liked  the  Boy  j  in  fact,  she  liked  him 
so  well  that  she  would  have  preferred  putting  her  face 
on  the  cold  white  keys  and  crying :  women  are 
nothing  if  not  illogical.  Instead  of  such  a  bit  of 
melodramatic  bad  taste,  she  laughed  softly  without 
looking  up.  u  How  absurd  !  "  she  said,  as  if  he  had 
made  quite  a  clever  remark  —  for  a  boy. 

u  My  dear  child,"  her  tone  was  motherly,  "  I  am 
ages  older  than  you  —  quite  five  years.  You  would 
never  cease  regretting  that  you  had  married  me.  I 
should  be  old  and  worn  before  you  were  in  your 
prime.  No,  you  must  find  some  one  else,  who  will 
adore  you  and  make  you  perfectly  happy,  and  I  will 
come  to  see  you  to  lend  the  dignity  of  age  to  your 
marriage." 

"You  are  heartless,"  said  the  Boy,  between  his 
teeth. 

"  Am  I  ?  Well,  I  don't  agree  with  you,  and  in 
a  year  you  and  she  will  thank  me." 

"  I  can  never  love  any  one  else." 

"  Quite  the  conventional  remark  under  the  circum- 
stances. I  should  have  felt  quite  hurt  had  you  not 
said  it.  But  it  Js  nonsense  all  the  same.  Besides,  I 
care  for  —  some  one  else." 

She  told  the  lie  with  no  apparent  struggle. 

He  left  her  there  in  the  shadow  still  playing 
the  noisy,  blatantly  cheerful  two-step.  He  went 
179 


Founded  on  Fact 

too  quickly  to  hear  the  music  stop  with  a  sudden 
crash,  and  to  see  her  turn  with  wide-stretched  arms, 
with  her  eyes  like  dewy  stars  shining  through  her 
tears.  And  perhaps  it  was  well  for  him  that  he  did 
not. 


180 


The  Amorous  Scientist 


THE  AMOROUS   SCIENTIST 

A  SCIENTIST,  with  learning  vain, 
Who  thought  all  things  he  could  explain 
By  means  of  nerve  cells  in  the  brain 
And  molecules  and  motion, 

Once  fell  a  prey  to  Cupid's  dart, 
And  to  the  maid  who  stole  his  heart 
He  thus  attempted  to  impart 
His  passionate  emotion  : 

"  My  lobes  occipital  are  wrecked, 

(Their  every  cell  thou  dost  affect), 

Their  vaso-motor  process  checked 

By  the  mere  concept  of  you. 

"  Do  yours  respond  likewise  to  me  ?  " 
"  Pray,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  quoth  she. 
"  Why,  only  —  simply,"  stammered  he, 
"  In  other  words  —  I  love  you." 

Ah,  Science,  all  thy  technique  vain, 
Thy  knowledge  vast  of  world  and  brain, 
Can  ne'er  the  simple  worth  attain 
Of  these  three  words,  "  I  love  you." 


181 


A  Song  of  Other  Days 


A  SONG   OF   OTHER  DAYS 

HE  was  an  old  man,  bent  and  gray ;  she  was  a 
young  girl  hardly  yet  grown  to  womanhood. 
She  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  gently  stroking  the  thin 
gray  hair,  and  watching  the  dancing  blaze  in  the 
fireplace.  The  fire  cast  fantastic  shadows  about  the 
room,  lighting  up  the  dark  corners  for  a  moment, 
then  leaving  them  to  greater  gloom.  For  a  long 
time  neither  of  the  two  spoke.  Gradually  the  flames 
ceased  trooping  over  the  logs,  and  the  gray  sparks 
took  shorter  journeys  chimney-ward. 

"  Play  to  me,"  the  old  man  said. 

The  girl  rose  and  took  her  violin  from  the  table 
where  it  lay.  For  a  moment  was  heard  only  the 
thrumming  of  strings;  then  she  played  to  him.  It 
was  a  simple  air,  —  one  of  the  old  ones  that  are 
always  best,  —  and  as  the  old  man  gazed  into  the 
glowing  coals,  he  forgot  the  music  and  the  girl  and 
himself,  and  felt  only  the  sweet  thrill  of  another  day, 
years  gone. 

It  was  spring  and  they  two  were  maying.  They 
wandered  through  woodland  and  meadow,  chasing  the 
few  early  butterflies  they  saw,  and  gathering  flowers 
here  and  there.  Her  face  was  hot  and  flushed  and 
happy  under  her  great  white  sunbonnet.  A  bit  of 
curl  had  broken  loose  from  its  bonds  and  struggled 
out  beneath  her  hat,  and  he  begged  her  to  give  it  to 
him.  He  smiled  now  as  he  thought  of  her  scornful 
refusal. 

182 


A  Song  of  Other  Days 

She  wanted  some  violets  that  grew  on  the  other 
side  of  the  brook,  and  he  was  helping  her  over  the 
stepping-stones.  In  the  most  unsteady  part  he 
stopped  and  refused  to  go  on  until  she  had  answered 
something  he  asked  her.  Blushing,  with  eyes  cast 
down,  she  replied  so  softly  that  none  but  a  lover 
might  have  heard. 

And  afterward,  wearying  of  the  birds  and  the 
flowers  and  the  butterflies,  they  sat  down  on  the 
flower-strewn  bank,  and  with  the  fragrance  of  sweet- 
fern  all  about,  she  sang  to  him. 

It  was  the  same  song  that  the  young  girl  had  played 
to-night.  The  old  man  had  rested  his  head  in  his 
hands,  and  as  he  gazed  into  the  glowing  embers,  a 
dreamy  half-smile  upon  his  face,  in  the  light  of  the 
dying  fire  he  looked  young  again.  When  the  music 
ceased,  he  did  not  move,  and  so,  softly  replacing  her 
violin,  the  young  girl  stole  away. 


183 


In  Bohemia 


IN  BOHEMIA 

«  Dans  un  grcnier,  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt  ans!  *' 

A  BOOK  —  in  French  — yellow  covered, 
The  smoke  of  a  cigarette  — 
On  the  divan  by  the  windows 
It  seems  that  I  see  you  yet. 

Outside  the  roofs  steeped  in  sunshine, 
'Neath  a  faint  spring  sky  of  blue, 

Below  us  the  city's  tumult  — 
Above  in  our  nest  —  we  two. 

I  was  young  —  with  all  before  me, 
You,  too  —  with  something  behind, 

You  told  me  one  day,  half  crying ; 
I  kissed  you  —  and  did  n't  mind. 

Vive  la  Follet !  and  we  pledged  her 

In  clear  golden  veuve  cliquot 
(I  *d  sold  a  sketch,  I  remember, 

How  bad  —  then  I  did  not  know). 

A  banquet !  a  box  our  table, 

Other  things  claimed  it  as  well  — 

Fruit  from  the  stand  on  the  corner 
And  bread  served  —  au  natureL 


184 


In  Bohemia 

Your  gowns  are  designed  by  Worth  now, 
Perfection  of  style  and  tone  ; 

I  go  to  a  London  tailor 

(iMine  and  H.  B.  H.'s  own!)  — 

Yet,  if  Fate  choice  should  grant  me 
'  Twixt  these  and  the  days  gone  by, 

I  *d  take  the  crust  and  the  laughter 
In  that  bare  room  'neath  the  sky  ! 


.85 


That  Babington  Affair 


THAT   BABINGTON   AFFAIR 

'OU  will  pardon  my  being  so  abominably  per- 
sonal," I  said  to  my  friend  Reeves  in  a 
burst  of  confidence,  as  we  sat  smoking  before  the 
open  fire,  talking  over  our  summer  at  Babington. 
"  But  did  I  ever  tell  you  the  little  stunt  that  happened 
to  Miss  Marston  and  me  on  the  links  last  summer  ? " 

He  moved  rather  uneasily  at  the  mention  of  that 
name,  I  thought,  but  listened  with  interest. 

"  Well,"  I  continued,  "  you  know  that,  thanks  to 
your  exploiting  of  my  peculiarities  and  a  natural  diffi- 
dence which  I  must  admit,  I  got  a  reputation  with 
those  girls  for  being  the  most  bashful  thing  there ;  I 
don't  think  she  seriously  believed  it,  though. 

"  It  was  the  afternoon  that  you  were  feeling  rather 
rocky  from  meeting  those  Yale  people  the  night  be- 
fore. I  was  much  flattered  when  she  accepted  my 
services  as  instructor,  and  with  a  few  remarks  as  to 
the  uselessness  of  engaging  a  caddy,  I  proudly  took 
an  armful  of  clubs  and  we  started. 

"  You  are  also  aware  that  the  Babington  golf  course 
was  not  laid  out  with  a  view  to  pleasing  the  novice. 
Those  apple  orchards  and  swamps  that  diversify  the 
landscape  and  the  omnipresent  Sackett  brook,  so 
dangerously  near,  are  very  trying.  But  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there. 

"  Miss  Marston  progressed  rapidly  under  my  com- 
petent tuition.  Going  through  Profanity  Lane,  we 
1 86 


That  Babington  Affair 

chatted  about  Farmington,  and  upon  my  remarking 
that  I  should  probably  see  Alice  Walker  in  August, 
she  exclaimed :  c  Why,  really  ?  Do  give  Alice  my 
best  love  ! ' 

" c  May  I  keep  it  until  I  see  her  ? '  I  asked,  rather 
clumsily,  trying  your  favorite  bon  mot.  But  just  then 
the  lusty  Mrs.  Wrenn-Smith  (you  remember  seeing 
her  avoirdupois  galloping  over  the  links)  cried 
'  Fore  !  '  about  twenty  yards  behind  us,  and  we  turned 
around  inopportunely  to  see  a  large  area  of  turf  lose 
its  connection.  So  my  maiden  effort  was  lost. 

u  We  passed  '  Sleepy  Hollow '  and  '  Despair  ' 
easily,  but  in  approaching  the  eighth  green  a  long 
mashie  shot  sent  the  ball  across  the  brook,  where  it 
poised  defiantly.  I  admit  I  was  up  a  tree. 

"  '  Thunder ! '  I  think  she  said  —  some  forbidding 
word  of  two  syllables.  c  How  can  I  cross  ?  there 
does  n't  seem  to  be  a  sign  of  a  bridge.  And  I  so 
wanted  to  make  this  my  record.' 

" '  A  toppy  lie,  and  you  had  such  a  good  show  for 
the  bogy  !  Won't  you  allow  me  to  carry  you  over  ? ' 
I  suggested,  and  I  swear  I  saw  mischief  in  her  look 
as  she  smiled  at  me  and  then  turned  in  the  direction 
of  Mrs.  Wrenn-Smith,  —  a  friendly  hill  had  already 
managed  to  conceal  that  lady." 

Reeves  had  removed  his  feet  from  the  mantel  early 
in  the  narrative,  and  now  he  clutched  his  chair  ner- 
vously. I  refused  to  notice  this  agitation  and  went 
on : 

"  I  imagine  Miss  Marston  was  surprised  when  she 
found  herself  speedily  transferred  to  the  other  side. 
Anyway,  she  played  the  stroke  in  silence.  We 
recrossed  as  before. 


That  Babington  Affair 

"  There  was  rather  a  long  pause  as  we  walked  up. 
Finally  she  could  n't  refrain  from  laughing :  '  Are 
you  the  Mr.  Jackson  they  spoke  of  at  the  hotel  as 
being  so  unfortunately  — ' 

"  I  supplied,  '  Such  a  bashful  fool  ? '  and  assured 
her  the  accusation  was  entirely  just. 

"Later,  as  we  were  seated  on  the  club-house 
porch  with  several  others,  I  alluded  to  our  experi- 
ence :  c  You  know,  Miss  Marston  and  I  had  such 
an  amusing  adventure  to-day/  I  began. 

" '  Yes,  and  we  only  lost  two  strokes  by  it,'  she 
deftly  interposed,  and  commenced  a  discussion  on 
the  use  of  the  niblech  in  putting. 

"  My  reputation  for  diffidence  continued  as  good 
as  ever  —  except  with  one  person,  and  on  the  whole 
I  am  glad  it  is  that  way,  as  she  is  the  only  girl  —  " 

Reeves  leaned  forward  eagerly  :  "  Eh  !  You  don't 
mean  that  you  and  she —  But  Ethel  Marston  was 
a  corking  girl  —  quite  the  queen  at  Babington.  I 
have  some  pleasant  memories  of  her  myself." 

Reeves  did  not  seem  to  care  particularly  for  my 
story.  I  confess  I  was  too  dense  to  see  why  at  the 
time,  but  four  months  later  their  engagement  was 
announced.  I  am  planning  a  trip  around  the  world 
— after  graduation. 


188 


Conviction 


•'Vv    CONVICTION 

MARRIAGE  is  a  failure, 
I  at  least  divine  — 
Bachelors  support  me 

In  this  claim  of  mine. 
I  hate  a  man  that 's  lovesick, 

Always  looking  sore, 
'S  though  he  thought  he  ought  to 
Drink  and  smoke  no  more. 

I  'm  too  young  to  marry, 

Like  too  well  my  fun 
And  that  ancient  saying  : 

"  Go  it  while  you  're  young." 
Love  and  fame  can  never 

Live  together  long ; 
I  shall  choose  the  latter  — 

Love  's  not  worth  a  song. 

Helen  gets  here  Sunday  ? 

Coming  early  ?     Why, 
Think  I  '11  stay  till  Monday 

Just  to  say  good-by. 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 


THE  PRINCE  OF  GREATER  NEW  YORK 

MARCUS  WILLOUGHBY  was  smoking  a 
cigarette  in  his  apartment  on  the  fourth  floor 
of  Mrs.  Elder's  boarding-house  on  Somethingeth  Street. 
Outside,  a  Sabbath  calmness  reigned  over  the  usually 
clattering  streets.  Within  was  the  fading  aroma  of 
Mrs.  Elder's  Sabbath  dinner,  of  which  Marcus  Wil- 
loughby  had  just  partaken.  Marcus  was  lying  on  the 
sofa  amid  the  wreck  of  a  sixty-page  Sunday  paper 
which  had  engaged  him  during  the  morning  hours. 
He  was  watching  the  little  curl  of  smoke  that  wriggled 
out  of  the  end  of  his  cigarette. 

u  And  you  are  one  of  the  competing  princes  ?  " 
asked  the  old  man,  slowly.  "  Frankly,  I  would  ad- 
vise you  not  to  try  it.  It 's  too  risky,  and  the  game 
is  not  worth  the  candle.  To  be  sure,  the  Princess 
is  a  very  beautiful  princess  and  a  great  prize  if  you 
succeed,  but  there  are  plenty  of  princesses  to  be  had 
almost  as  beautiful  and  for  less  trouble." 

The  old  man  was  sitting  at  his  cottage  doorstep. 
Before  them  a  road  wound  over  the  hills.  In  the 
west  the  setting  sun  gilded  the  roofs  and  towers  of 
the  palace.  It  looked  very  fine,  this  palace  in  the 
distance  with  the  green  fields  in  front  of  it  and  be- 
yond the  ruddy  sky.  But  it  was  very  disconcerting, 
and  so  was  the  old  gentleman  with  his  talk  about 
princes  and  princesses.  A  moment  ago  Marcus  was 
lying  on  his  back  looking  at  the  faded  design  of  Mrs. 

190 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 

Elder's  ceiling  paper  through  a  cloud  of  tobacco 
smoke.  Well,  it  is  proverbial  that  life  is  full  of 
changes. 

"  Really,  my  dear  sir,"  Marcus  began,  "  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  explain." 

"  Then  you  are  n't  one  of  the  competing  princes  ?  " 
asked  the  old  man. 

Marcus  was  forced  to  reply  that  he  was  not. 

u  But  you  must  be  a  prince  ?  " 

It  was  evident  from  the  old  gentleman's  tone  that 
it  would  be  necessary  to  concede  him  this  point. 
Marcus's  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"Oh,  of  course  I  am  a  prince,"  he  said  non- 
chalantly. 

The  old  man  looked  relieved.  "  Merely  in  search 
of  adventure,  I  suppose,"  he  said.  "  In  that  case  I 
would  advise  you  to  go  to  the  next  kingdom.  Things 
are  dead  here  since  the  Princess  met  with  that  little 
accident  —  decidedly  dead.  Of  course,  if  you  want, 
you  can  try  to  get  into  the  palace  over  yonder,  as  the 
others  have  done.  It's  the  only  thing  in  the  shape 
of  adventure  that  this  country  can  offer.  But  I 
would  advise  you  not  to  try  it,  as  I  said  before.  It 's 
too  dangerous.  The  underbrush  is  something  awful 
—  not  been  touched,  you  know,  for  about  a  century. 
The  last  man  came  to  grief  who  tried  it  —  scratched 
his  eyes  out." 

Marcus  felt  that  he  was  beginning  to  get  oriented. 

"  But  he  scratched  them  in  again,  didn't  he  ?  "  he 
suggested,  a  little  doubtfully. 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man,  contemptuously ;  "  that's 
his  side  of  the  story,  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort. 
It  's  preposterous  to  think  so." 

191 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 

Marcus  felt  decidedly  crushed. 

"  Ah,  but  he  was  a  queer  one  !  "  the  old  man 
chuckled,  regaining  his  good  nature  at  the  recollec- 
tion. "The  old  duffer  said  to  me  very  solemnly, 
c  I  do  not  undertake  this  enterprise  with  matrimonial 
intentions,  but  in  the  interests  of  science.  I  am 
especially  delegated  by  the  "  Society  for  the  Advance- 
ment of  Disillusion  "  to  make  a  careful  examination 
of  the  whole  matter  and  to  report  the  result  of  my 
investigation  to  the  society.  We  have  doubts,  in 
fact,  about  there  being  any  princess  at  all/  And 
then  the  fellow  went  into  the  thicket  a  few  yards, 
scratched  out  his  eyes,  and  came  back  fully  persuaded 
that  there  was  no  princess.  He  did  not  get  as  far  as 
the  others ;  they  never  came  back  at  all." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  must  be  going,"  said  Marcus. 
"  It  will  be  dark  soon." 

"  You  think  you  will  try  it,  then,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  Well,  the  best  of  good  luck  to  you,  and 
don't  worry  about  the  time  of  day.  It  has  been  sun- 
set here  for  about  a  hundred  years  now,  more  or  less, 
and  it 's  likely  to  stay  so  for  a  while,  I  guess." 

Marcus  followed  the  road  along  for  quite  a  bit. 
Presently  he  saw  on  ahead  the  thicket  which  sur- 
rounded the  palace.  It  certainly  looked  formidable. 

But  as  he  approached  nearer,  it  underwent  a  curious 
change.  The  thorn  bushes  at  the  edge  became  trans- 
formed into  flowering  plants,  which  of  their  own 
accord  bent  aside  and  let  him  pass  through ;  and,  more 
curiously  still,  this  transformation  continued  as  he 
advanced  till  he  found  himself  before  the  palace  gate. 

Marcus  entered.  The  warden  was  sitting  asleep 
in  his  box.  He  walked  through  the  courtyard.  The 

192 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 

dogs  were  sleeping  in  their  kennels,  and  the  guards 
leaning  on  their  pikes.  Farther  he  went,  into  the 
main  hall,  where  the  king  and  queen  were  asleep  on 
their  thrones.  It  was  a  very  fine  room,  this  main 
hall,  but  Marcus  did  not  stop  there.  He  followed  a 
long  passage  and  ascended  a  little  winding  stairway 
at  the  end  of  it  that  led  into  a  turret  chamber.  There 
was  the  Princess  lying  on  the  floor,  with  just  the  least 
speck  of  blood  on  her  palm. 

"  O,  poor  misguided  representative  of  the  Soci- 
ety for  the  Advancement  of  Disillusion  !  "  thought 
Marcus. 

And  they  lived  happily  ever  after  ?  Unfortunately 
not. 

Hand  in  hand  Marcus  and  the  Princess  stood  at 
the  window  looking  out  over  the  garden  of  roses  and 
lilies,  which  had  once  been  a  frightful  thicket.  Mar- 
cus had  just  told  the  Princess  of  the  many  kings' 
sons  who  had  tried  to  reach  the  palace  and  been 
held  fast  by  the  cruel  thorn  bushes  till  wild  beasts  had 
come  and  eaten  them  up.  This  had  made  the  Prin- 
cess pensive. 

"  H'm !  "  coughed  some  one  behind  them.  It 
was  the  King  and  his  spouse,  who  had  just  entered 
the  chamber. 

Marcus  turned  and  made  obeisance  before  them. 

"  You  are  the  scion  of  some  noble  house,  I  trust, 
young  man,  or  you  would  not  have  ventured  to  take 
this  liberty,"  said  the  King,  rather  crossly. 

"  Yes,  may  it  please  your  majesty,  of  the  house  of 
Butts  &  Tugaway,  New  York.     No  better  house  in 
the  country  —  you  can  look  them  up  in  Bradstreet." 
Marcus  was  a  little  confused. 
13  193 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 

These  were  terms  new  to  his  majesty's  heraldry. 
"  What  may  your  title  be  ?  "  he  asked. 

Marcus  regained  his  presence  of  mind  and  assum- 
ing a  haughty  tone,  replied,  "  Your  Highness,  I  am 
the  Prince  of  Greater  New  York."  The  occasion 
demanded  a  decisive  stand. 

"Then  let  the  marriage  ceremony  take  place  at 
once,"  cried  the  King. 

The  great  hall  of  the  palace  was  crowded  with  the 
King's  retainers  all  dressed  in  their  best.  The  King 
himself,  with  his  consort,  sat  on  their  thrones  arrayed 
in  their  robes  of  state.  Before  them  stood  Marcus 
and  the  Princess,  the  latter  in  organdie,  or  tulle,  or 
something  else  ravishing  and  appropriate  to  the 
occasion,  and  surrounded  by  her  bridesmaids.  From 
a  bower  of  palms  a  mandolin  orchestra  was  playing 
the  last  strains  of  the  Wedding  March.  The  cere- 
mony was  about  to  take  place. 

Just  then  Marcus  saw  enter  the  room,  unan- 
nounced, but  no  less  confidently  on  that  account, 
a  figure  he  knew  very  well.  It  was  Mr.  George 
Daniel  Butts,  of  Butts  &  Tugaway,  New  York.  He 
came  striding  up  through  the  hall,  his  hands  in  his 
trousers'  pockets,  his  great  seals  dangling  over  the 
brow  of  his  portly  paunch,  his  silk  hat  tipped  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  that  irritated,  contemptuous 
look  on  his  face  that  Marcus  had  noticed  there  before 
when  there  had  been  something  wrong  with  his 
balance  sheet. 

Mr.  Butts  came  right  up  before  the  throne. 

"  Look  here,  you  old  fool,"  he  cried,  addressing  his 
astonished  majesty,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?  Marry- 
ing your  daughter  to  this  rascal  here!  He's  no 
194 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 

prince,  nor  anything  like  it.  He  's  my  clerk,  whom 
I  pay  twenty  dollars  a  week  to,  and  make  sit  on  a 
stool  nine  hours  a  day  and  six  days  in  the  week,  try- 
ing to  earn  it.  He  's  swindled  you.  He  has  n't  a 
red  cent  in  the  world,  to  say  nothing  about  being 
a  prince.  Do  you  know  what  kind  of  an  es- 
tablishment he  could  provide  for  his  wife  ?  A 
four-room  flat  in  Harlem,  where  her  cook  and  her 
housemaids  and  her  hairdresser  and  her  ladies  in 
waiting,  if  she  had  any,  would  have  to  be  her  own 
hands." 

The  King  glared  all  kinds  of  fury  at  Marcus. 

"  To  prison  with  him ! "  he  shouted,  and  his 
guards  carried  out  the  order. 

Marcus  was  lying  on  a  pallet  of  straw  in  his 
dungeon.  The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  the  moon 
was  well  up  in  the  sky.  A  gleam  of  it  came  through 
the  window  away  up  above  Marcus's  head  and 
lighted  up  the  opposite  wall.  It  was  almost  mid- 
night. The  guard  outside  was  asleep  from  the  sound 
of  his  snoring,  but  as  Marcus  was  chained  to  a  big 
ring  in  the  wall,  it  did  not  matter. 

He  had  almost  gone  to  sleep  himself  when  the 
door  was  opened  softly,  and  there  stood  the  Princess. 
She  had  a  big  bunch  of  keys  in  her  hand. 

u  I  have  come  to  set  you  free,"  she  said. 

Marcus  said  nothing  because  he  felt  so  much 
ashamed  for  having  told  them  all  that  he  was  a  prince 
when  he  was  not.  But  then  it  seemed  as  if  he  was 
at  the  time. 

Marcus  watched  the  Princess  in  silence,  as  she 
unfastened  his  fetters.  When  she  had  finished  he 
followed  her  past  the  sleeping  guard  and  down  a 


The  Prince  of  Greater  New  York 

long  passageway  till  they  both  emerged  on  the  broad 
terrace  before  the  palace. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  kneeling  and  kissing  her 
hand. 

The  Princess  watched  him  as  he  turned  to  leave 
her.  "  Are  you  going —  without  me  ?  "  she  said. 

Marcus  looked  back  sadly. 

"  It  is  true  that  I  am  no  prince  at  all,"  he  answered, 
"  and  the  rest  that  he  said  too." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  for  that,"  cried  the  Princess. 
u  I  don't  need  Gretchen  to  do  my  hair  —  or  the 
others.  We  will  go  together  and  live  in  a  —  what 
did  he  call  it?  —  in  Harlem." 

Marcus  found  himself  in  his  room  on  the  fourth 
floor  of  Mrs.  Elder's  boarding-house  on  Somethingeth 
Street.  He  was  alone,  for  the  Princess  had  stayed 
behind  in  that  land  where  princesses  are  still  to  be 
gained  by  the  adventurous.  .  Unfortunately  one  cannot 
live  there  happily  ever  after. 


196 


A  Relic 


A    RELIC 

MUSEUM  — 

SUCH  a  dainty  thing  you  'd  hardly  guess 
The  evil  it  could  do, 
With  hilt  impearled  and  slender  blade 
Of  softly  mottled  blue. 

And  yet,  one  night,  in  a  man's  hot  clasp, 

To  mar  and  to  destroy, 
Paying  shame's  debt  to  jealousy 

It  went  as  death's  envoy. 

You  know  the  place ;  'twixt  the  throat  and  ear, 

Where  the  hair  's  fine  and  light, 
And  swelling  veins  show  tenderly 

Soft  purple  through  the  white. 

Dear  God !  how  it  leaped  to  drink  its  fill 
Of  the  red,  cloy'd  warm  and  wet ! 

Its  steely  heart  at  the  memory 
Must  thrill  with  rapture  yet ! 

You  'd  hardly  guess  —  ah,  the  wreck  it  wrought ! 

And  then,  its  tongue  withdrawn, 
The  awful  thing  is  left  to  meet 

The  wan,  gaunt  face  of  dawn. 


197 


A  Bargain 


A  BARGAIN 

THE  painter's  wife  had  come  all  the  way  up  to 
the  studio ;  her  soft  hair  and  quiet  unobtru- 
sive little  face  looked  pale  and  monotonous  in  the 
gray  north  light  from  above.  The  painter  softened 
his  brushes  in  a  tin  of  turpentine  and  laid  them  away. 
He  glanced  across  the  big  bare  room  at  the  slender 
figure  and  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"I  came  up  to  get  you,  Jim, —  if — if  you  are 
coming  home  to  supper,"  she  said. 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  took  that  trouble,"  he  answered. 
"  I  'm  dining  out.  I  thought  I  told  you." 

"  I  know,  Jim,  but  I  was  so  lonesome.  I  read 
till  I  was  tired  —  I  was  reading  cTess,'  you  know 
—  and  I  got  nervous  and  fidgety,  and  I  went  to  see 
Mrs.  Taylor  on  the  floor  below,  and  —  and  —  I  won- 
dered whether  you  would  n't  have  supper  home  to- 
night. You  have  n't  for  four  days.  Why,  Jimmy, 
your  model  sees  more  of  you  than  I." 

u  You  have  given  yourself  rather  a  needless  journey, 
then,  because  I  am  promised  for  this  evening.  I  'm 
glad  you  satisfied  your  suspicions,  though.  I  sent  her 
home  an  hour  ago  —  if  you  care  to  take  my  word, 
that  is." 

"  Oh,  oh  !  How  can  you  say  such  nasty  things  ! 
I  only  wanted  to  have  you  home  this  one  evening. 
You  are  n't  very  good  to  me  now,  Jim,  I  think. 
And  I  have  such  a  nice  hot  supper  and  that  salad 
you  like.  You  used  to  say  — " 
198 


A  Bargain 

u  Spare  us  the  description,  please,  Nellie.  I  am 
really  very  sorry."  He  took  off  his  working  blouse. 
"  There 's  nothing  else,  is  there  ?  If  you  '11  excuse 
me,  I  will  clean  up." 

"  I  'm  going  in  a  minute,  Jim.  I  did  n't  mean  to 
interrupt  you.  I  am  afraid  I  spoiled  a  sitting  yester- 
day, coming  in.  No,  don't  bother  to  come  with  me. 
I  know  the  stairs.  Good-by."  She  closed  her  lips 
firmly  and  went  carefully  down  the  flights  of  narrow 
stairs  into  the  street  crowded  with  home-going  shop- 
people. 

Three  months  later  she  went  away  with  another 
man  who  said  he  cared  for  her.  He  died,  it  seems, 
and  no  one  has  heard  of  her  since.  However,  such 
pictures  as  Jimmy's  cannot  be  had  for  nothing.  For 
my  part,  since  I  have  seen  "  The  Harvesters,"  and 
that  study  of  a  "  Girl  in  Gray,"  and  u  The  Greatest 
of  These  is  Charity,"  —  the  last  and  finest  of  all  (I 
saw  that  at  the  Metropolitan  with  its  salon  number 
fresh  in  the  corner),  I  can  only  think  the  world  had 
all  the  best  of  the  bargain. 


199 


A  Ballad  of  Dorothy 


A   BALLAD    OF   DOROTHY 

IT  's  "  Dorothy  !     Where 's  Dorothy  ? " 
From  morn  to  even  fall, 
There  's  not  a  lad  on  Cowslip  Farm 
Who  joins  not  in  the  call. 

It 's  Dolly  here  and  Dolly  there, 

Where  can  the  maiden  be  ? 
No  wench  in  all  the  countryside  's 

So  fine  as  Dorothy. 

With  tucked-up  gown  and  shining  pail, 

Before  the  day  is  bright, 
Down  dewy  lanes  she  singing  goes 

Among  the  hawthorns  white. 

Perchance  her  roses  need  her  care, 

She  tends  them  faithfully. 
There 's  not  a  rose  in  all  the  world 

As  fresh  and  sweet  as  she  ! 

With  morning  sunshine  in  her  hair 

A-churning  Dolly  stands  ; 
Oh,  happy  churn,  I  envy  it, 

Held  close  between  her  hands. 

And  when  the  crescent  moon  hangs  bright 

Athwart  the  soft  night  sky, 
Down  shady  paths  we  strolling  go. 

Just  Dorothy  and  I. 

200 


A  Ballad  of  Dorothy 

As  true  of  heart  as  sweet  of  face, 

With  gay  and  girlish  air, 
The  painted  belles  of  citydom 

Are  not  a  whit  as  fair. 

Come  Michaelmas  the  parish  chimes 

Will  ring  out  merrily. 
Who  is  the  bride  I  lead  to  church  ? 

Why,  who  but  Dorothy  ? 


201 


An  Affair  of  the  Heart 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE   HEART 

ONCE  there  was  a  man  with  whom  Chance  had 
a  very  desperate  flirtation.  Now  Chance  is 
a  very  fickle  goddess,  whose  affections  are  a  bit  less 
stable  than  her  poise  on  the  wheel  which  the  sculptors 
put  under  her  foot.  But  you  know  as  well  as  I,  if 
you  have  seen  her,  —  in  marble  as  the  sculptors  re- 
member her,  or  as  you  know  her  yourself,  when 
you  look  through  a  grate  fire  from  the  depths  of  a 
high-backed  chair,  —  that  she  is  a  very  beautiful  and 
gracious  and  alluring  person,  albeit  cruel  and  indiffer- 
ent when  she  has  a  will. 

After  the  manner  of  womankind,  she  fell  in  love 
with  a  man  who^  had  little  need  of  her,  and,  to  say 
the  truth,  thought  little  good  of  her  (for  some  of 
her  escapades  had  been  not  a  little  daring,  and  there 
are  busybodies  to  speak  ill  of  us  all).  My  lady  was 
fairly  taken  aback  at  this,  for  her  admirers  aforetime 
had  never  been  slow  to  respond  to  her  smile  — 
indeed,  all  the  fault  she  found  was  that  the  stupid 
fellows  did  not  know  when  she  was  tired  of  them. 
But  this  man  was  already  not  ill-settled  with  the  good 
things  in  life,  had  no  particular  lack  of  the  favors  at 
Chance's  bestowal,  and  seemed  quite  content.  All 
the  others  had  been  fortune-hunters,  said  Chance. 
Thereupon  she  completed  her  most  bewitching  toilet, 
which  consisted  of  tying  her  hair  in  a  new  knot ;  and 
she  managed  to  show  her  profile  pretty  often  because 
202 


An  Affair  of  the  Heart 

she  thought  it  better  than  her  full  face;  and  she 
shook  her  cornucopia  over  him  till  it  was  fairly 
ragged. 

But  the  man  was  not  in  haste  to  come  at  her  beck, 
nor  did  he  ever  allow  her  to  feel  sure  of  him ;  for  his 
speeches  had  a  ring  to  them  neither  false  nor  true, 
and  he  never  showed  his  trust  in  Chance,  as  the 
others  had  done.  The  others  were  young  for  the 
most  part,  and  had  told  her  their  trials  and  ambitions, 
and  had  plighted  themselves  eternally,  as  young  men 
feel  bound  to  do;  while  he  was  older  and  a  little 
more  cynical  and  far  too  wise  to  do  anything  of  that 
kind.  Chance  did  her  prettiest,  and  was  kinder  than 
ever  before  —  especially  when  she  heard  her  last  ad- 
mirer was  still  attentive  to  Opportunity  and  Ability 
(these  were  steadier  ladies,  but,  to  quote  hearsay,  old 
flames  of  his). 

When,  after  all  these  efforts,  Chance  saw  that  he 
was  still  as  smilingly  half-hearted  and  content,  she 
left  him  in  a  huff.  And  that  was  after  a  very  trying 
little  scene,  I  assure  you.  She  wished  him  more  ill- 
luck,  and  cursed  him  more  heartily  than  any  of  the 
others  (for  she  always  abandoned  them  when  they 
seemed  abject  enough,  like  the  vicious  little  coquette 
she  was).  The  man  laughed  at  her  malevolence,  and 
went  calmly  back  to  his  more  serious  friendships  of 
former  years  —  and  it  seemed  that  he  mourned  Chance 
not  at  all.  But  the  bigger  gods  at  the  back  of  things 
seemed  to  enjoy  her  discomfiture. 


203 


Noel 


NOEL 

EACH  star  gleams  like  an  Altar-light, 
The  great  winds  chaunting  pass. 
The  earth  hath  donned  her  vestments  fair 
To  keep  the  Holy  Mass. 

Now,  who  are  these  who  wend  the  fields 

To  hill-top  Bethlehem  ? 
The  night  grows  late  —  the  inn  is  full, 

There  is  no  room  for  them. 

They  may  not  bide  within  the  inn, 

But  in  the  stable-place 
Amid  the  kine  she  lays  her  down, 

Our  Lady  full  of  grace. 

s 

Each  star  gleams  like  an  Altar-light, 
The  great  winds  chaunting  pass. 

The  earth  hath  donned  her  vestments  fair 
To  keep  the  Holy  Mass. 

Lo,  she  hath  put  her  Baby  down 

Within  the  soft  sweet  hay. 
The  vaulted  skies  are  quick  with  lights 

Of  the  first  Christmas  Day. 

Across  the  world  of  glistening  snow 

It  dawneth  now  as  then, 
And  Christian  hearts  are  glad  to  sing 

Of  God's  good  grace  to  men. 
204 


Noel 

Each  star  gleams  like  an  Altar-light, 
The  great  winds  chaunting  pass. 

The  earth  hath  donned  her  vestments  fair 
To  keep  the  Holy  Mass. 


205 


Three  Pipes 

THREE  PIPES 

I 

THE  hallway  on  the  top  floor  of  a  Fifth  Avenue 
apartment  house  ended  in  two  rooms  which 
made  the  bachelor  quarters  of  Henry  Forel.  In  front 
of  the  door  of  the  larger  room  Forel  was  now  jan- 
gling at  his  chain  for  the  latchkey.  The  hall  was 
dark,  or  Forel' s  hand  unsteady,  for  he  botched  about 
in  vain  for  the  key-hole. 

"  D —  that  porter !  "  he  muttered  doggedly  through 
tight  lips,  as  he  at  last  rammed  the  key  home,  and 
flung  the  door  back  against  the  rubber  stop,  making 
it  shiver  painfully  on  its  hinges. 

Without  more  words  he  shuffled  his  way  between 
the  furniture  to  the  gas-jet,  fumbled  after  a  match, 
found  one,  and  broke  it  against  the  sole  of  his  shoe. 
He  rubbed  another  along  the  seat  of  his  trousers. 
There  was  no  head  on  it,  and  he  hurled  it  in  the 
direction  of  the  grate.  A  third  flared  off  against  his 
finger.  u  D —  these  matches  !  "  was  all  he  chose  to 
remark.  Then  he  pulled  off  his  coat,  drew  on  a  house 
jacket,  and  dragging  a  large  chair  up  to  the  fireplace, 
sat  down  in  it  with  a  grunt  of  profound  disgust. 

Near  him  stood  a  smoking-table  on  which  a  pipe 
rested  beside  a  paper  of  u  Old  Gold."  Mechanically 
he  took  up  the  pipe  and  began  stuffing  it.  Then, 
remembering  that  he  had  not  crumbled  the  tobacco, 
he  knocked  it  out,  and  milled  it  in  the  palm  of  his 
206 


Three  Pipes 

hand.  Filling  the  pipe  once  more,  he  lighted  it,  fol- 
lowing a  chain  of  habit. 

For  five  minutes  or  so  the  smoke  wreathed  and 
eddied  about  his  head.  The  narcotic  began  to  tell, 
and  his  body  and  limbs  relaxed.  A  long  and  rather 
tremulous  sigh  came  between  two  puffs  of  smoke. 
Presently  he  put  the  pipe  aside  on  the  table,  rose, 
went  into  his  bedroom,  and  came  back  with  a 
photograph  in  his  hand.  This  he  put  on  the  table, 
leaning  it  against  a  candlestick,  and  sat  quietly  con- 
fronting it.  At  last  he  took  up  the  photograph 
again  and  kept  it  close  in  front  of  his  face.  He 
did  not  know  that  he  was  holding  his  breath  till  the 
air  forced  a  way  all  at  once  through  his  lips. 

"  I  love  her,"  he  said,  and  sank  back  in  his  chair. 
The  hand  which  held  the  photograph  fell  down  at 
his  side. 

II 

IT  was  two  o'clock  and  Forel  had  not  come  in. 
A  gusty  gas-jet  dodged  to  and  fro  in  the  hall  of  the 
upper  story.  The  house  was  asleep.  Then  the 
front  door  slammed  far  below,  and  an  irregular  clatter 
of  light  shoes  wound  up  the  stairs.  It  was  Forel,  in 
evening  dress,  and  wrapped  chin-deep  in  an  opera 
coat.  The  key  went  straight  home,  the  first  match 
struck  brightly,  and  the  lamp  shone  warmly  through 
the  room.  Forel  took  the  chair  by  the  hearth,  care- 
fully kneaded  his  tobacco,  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe. 

"  I  will  have  a  little  blaze,"  he  said,  and  stooping, 
set  fire  to  the  paper  under  the  irons.     "  There,"  he 
added   as  he   settled  deep  between   the  arms  of  the 
chair,  "  there,  that 's  just  what  I  wanted." 
207 


Three  Pipes 

By  and  by,  when  the  pipe  had  slowly  yielded  up 
its  ghost,  he  brought  the  photograph  again  and  set 
it  where  he  could  look  at  it  while  his  head  rested 
back  on  the  cushion.  What  were  his  thoughts  ? 

"  Fool  that  I  am  ! "  he  blurted  out,  and  sprang  to 
his  full  height,  every  tendon  in  his  body  taut  as 
cords.  "  Fool  that  I  am  ! .  I  should  have  known." 
He  strode  to  the  window,  threw  it  up  violently, 
and  breathed  hard,  looking  out  into  the  pale  black 
of  the  sky  about  him. 

Ill 

STEPS  came  slowly  but  steadily  up  the  winding 
flights  to  Forel's  door.  It  was  Forel  himself.  He 
went  in,  and  with  deft,  easy  movements  set  the 
room  to  rights.  A  minute  more  and  he  was  sitting 
in  the  usual  chair  puffing  at  a  pipe.  He  glanced 
at  a  calendar  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Five  years  ago  to-night,"  he  said  with  a  light 
sigh,  "and,"  he  added,  looking  at  his  watch,  "just 
about  this  time."  He  kept  rubbing  the  face  of  the 
watch  with  his  thumb,  and  stared  with  wide  eyelids 
—  at  nothing. 

Then  the  light  of  thought  crept  into  his  face  again. 

"  It  will  do  no  harm,"  he  argued  with  some  inner 
voice,  "  I  have  n't  let  myself  since  then."  Rising 
and  going  to  a  cabinet,  he  brought  thence  a  portfolio 
which  he  laid  open  on  his  knees. 

"  Here    it  is,"   he    murmured,   as    he   drew    from 

within  a   photograph.      He  held  it  close    to  his  face 

and  gazed  at  it  eagerly  for  a  long,  long  time.      All 

at  once  he  looked  up  with  a  start.     He  shook  him- 

208 


Three  Pipes 

self  and  slipped  the  photograph  hastily  back  between 
the  leather  flaps. 

"  No  more  of  this,"  he  exckimed  ;  "  what  Js  the 
use  ? "  and  going  again  to  the  cabinet,  he  locked  the 
portfolio  into  its  drawer  and  returned  to  the  fire. 
Leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  he 
stared  into  the  logs.  And  for  a  long  time  he  scarcely 
moved  but  to  breathe,  staring  into  the  logs. 


209 


Ninety-nine  Class  Poem 


NINETY-NINE   CLASS   POEM 


/N  the  hush  of  the  early  summer, 
'Neath  the  smile  of  the  soft  June  sky, 
PVe,  who  have  lived  together, 

Gather  to  say  good-by. 
And  now,  with  our  labor  ended, 

And  the  hours  we  may  linger  few, 
We  kneel  for  our  mother's  blessing, 

As  is  our  right  to  do. 
Stately  and  tall  is  our  mother, 

Tender  and  strong  and  wise ; 
With  the  light  of  infinite  knowledge 

In  the  depths  of  her  steadfast  eyes. 
And  as  we  kneel  before  her, 

Her  voice  rings  clear  and  slow, 
As  she  speaks  the  words  of  the  blessing 

That  she  gives  to  her  sons,  ere  they  go. 

II 

"  Sons  of  my  four  years'  nurture, 
Ye  who  have  eaten  my  bread, 

Pause  ere  you  take  your  journey 
Down  the  wide  roads  ahead ! 

Listen  !  that  I  may  tell  you 
In  simple  speech  and  plain, 
210 


Ninety-nine  Class  Poem 

How  from  the  debt  that  ye  owe  me 

Ye  may  quit  yourselves  again  ! 
The  wisdom  of  generations 

I  have  spread  for  your  delight ; 
And  the  truths  that  men  have  died  for 

Ye  may  claim  as  your  simple  right. 
Heirs  of  the  hoarding  ages, 

How  use  ye  your  legacy  ? 
Masters  of  many  talents 

Render  account  to  me ! 

in 

"  Are  ye  puffed  with  the  pride  of  learning  ? 

Are  ye  pleased  with  the  praise  of  fools  ? 
Have  your  minds  grown  cramped  and  narrow 

With  the  lore  that  ye  learned  in  schools  ? 
Has  your  knowledge  made  you  slothful, 

And  your  culture  made  you  vain, 
That  ye  think  to  gain  without  labor 

What  another  must  toil  to  gain  ? 
Then  are  your  years  here  wasted 

As  pearls  that  are  cast  to  swine ! 
Then  are  ye  servants  of  servants, 

And  no  true  sons  of  mine  ! 
For  they  who  began  behind  you 

Shall  pass  you  in  the  race ; 
And  untaught  men  shall  shame  you 

In  the  open  market-place  ! 

IV 

"  From  the  quiet  heart  of  the  mountains 
Ye  must  take  journey,  down 

211 


Ninety-nine  Class  Poem 

To  the  world,  that  is  ever  careless. 

Of  the  skirts  of  a  scholar's  gown. 
And  the  sheltered  life  of  college 

Ye  must  leave  behind  you  then, 
And  bear  your  parts  in  the  battle 

Where  men  fight  hard  with  men. 
There  there  is  naught  to  help  you 

But  your  wit  and  strength  of  limb, 
There  every  man  is  your  master 

Until  you  have  mastered  him. 
For  a  great  law  governs  the  fighting 

And  all  are  ruled  thereby  — 
c  He  that  is  strong  shall  conquer ! 

He  that  is  weak  must  die  ! ' 


"  Therefore,  that  ye  may  merit 

Men's  praise  when  your  heads  are  gray> 
Cling  to  the  good  ye  have  gathered 

From  my  teaching  that  ends  to-day. 
Ye  have  learned  many  true  sayings 

And  many  wise  maxims  heard, 
For  some  ye  know  the  reason, 

And  for  some  ye  must  take  my  word. 
But,  though  ye  forget  the  others, 

These  two  hold  firm  and  clear : 
The  first  is  — '  He  that  would  win  must  workj 

The  second  —  '  Thou  shalt  not  fear  !  ' 
For  the  vices  of  a  strong  man 

Are  pardoned  in  the  end  ; 
But  he  that  is  born  a  coward 

Hath  neither  foe  nor  friend ! 
212 


Ninety-nine  Class  Poem 


VI 

"  Be  tender,  and  quick  to  pity 

At  the  sight  of  another's  wrong, 
Humble  before  a  weaker, 

Cringing  not  to  the  strong. 
Paying  each  service  twofold, 

Nor  counting  the  debt  clear  then ; 
Keeping  your  faith  with  women, 

Speaking  the  truth  to  men. 

VII 

"  High  in  the  purple  mountains, 

Where  the  world's  strife  cannot  come, 
Ringed  by  the  iron  cordon 

Of  the  hills  that  guard  my  home, 
I  gather  my  sons  about  me 

And  teach  them  at  my  knee, 
And  when  they  have  learned  their  lessons, 

My  sons  go  forth  from  me. 
Over  the  world  they  wander, 

In  sunshine  and  wind  and  storm, 
But  I  sit  here  in  the  quiet  room 

And  keep  the  hearthstone  warm ; 
Watching  and  listening  and  waiting 

For  their  footsteps  at  the  door, 
Till  one  by  one  as  the  years  go  by 

My  sons  come  home  once  more. 
Then  I  fling  wide  the  portal 

And  welcome  them  to  the  hall, 
With  praise  for  the  strong,  and  pity 

For  the  weak,  and  love  for  all. 
213 


Ninety-nine  Class  Poem 

And  the  welcome  that  I  give  them 

Is  reward  for  those  that  win ; 
And  they  who  are  spent  with  fighting 

Find  a  new  strength  therein. 
And  when  they  have  told  their  stories, 

And  rested  a  little  space, 
They  rise,  and  get  them  forth  again 

Each  man  to  his  own  place ; 
To  take  the  task  that  waits  him, 

And  labor  to  the  end, 
That  he  may  win  a  living 

For  wife  and  child  and  friend. 
Careless  of  sneers  and  frowning 

From  curs  that  cringe  and  shirk, 
Asking  no  greater  pleasure 

Than  the  sight  of  his  finished  work. 

VIII 

"Ye  who  to-day  must  follow 

Whither  your  fates  shall  lead, 
These  are  your  elder  brothers  ! 

Prove  yourselves  of  the  breed  ! 
See  that  ye  count  as  shameful 

No  work  your  hands  can  do ; 
And  when  ye  are  spent,  come  back  to  me, 

That  I  may  comfort  you. 
Now,  through  the  open  portal, 

Rise,  and  go  forth  to-day ! 
And  a  mother's  blessing  go  with  you, 

To  help  you  on  your  way." 

WILLIAMSTOWN,  June  20,  1899. 
214 


«  The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight " 


"THE   BLIND   RECEIVE  THEIR    SIGHT' 

LORY  to  Allah  !  Love  is  but  a  hieroglyph 
to  me,  and  I  know  not  what  it  means." 

A  student  stared  through  a  blue-flamed  fire  into  a 
phantom  world,  while  outside  the  city  clocks  struck 
three.  The  fire  was  bright,  but  everything  else 
seemed  to  be  a  pall.  To  tell  the  truth,  a  man  can't 
always  afford  to  let  two  and  a  half  college  years  slip 
away  in  idleness ;  for,  when  it  becomes  advisable  to 
seize  the  trailing  threads,  lo,  it  is  too  late.  So  the 
student  was  about  to  receive  his  quietus  at  the  hands 
of  the  great  university,  and  a  regiment  of  tutors 
could  n't  have  "  whipped  him  into  line "  for  the 
exams. 

Now  the  father  of  Her^  whose  photograph  was  in 
his  pocket,  in  the  fire-flame,  and  burned  deepest  in 
his  brain,  was  the  old  ex-judge ;  and  the  ex-judge  had 
fished  off  a  log  with  bent  pins  fifty  years  ago,  with  his 
father.  He  would  hear  how  the  university  "  dropped  " 
the  delinquent,  and  would  remark, "  So  that 's  the  kind 
of  a  boy  he  is  !  "  and,  seeing  his  daughter  very  friendly 
with  the  young  reprobate,  away  he  would  snatch 
her  to  foreign  capitals  ;  —  and  what  girl  ever  looked 
through  Parisian  streets,  and  over  three  thousand  miles 
of  rolling  Atlantic,  but  her  girlhood  memories  faded 
and  her  old  acquaintanceship  became  almost  as  if  it 
had  not  been  ?  Then  he  thought  of  her  sitting  on  a 
2I5 


"The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight" 

hotel  veranda  and  holding  a  dozen  admirers  at  bay, 
while  she  prays  that  night  or  something  would  come 
to  relieve  her ;  for  of  all  created  things,  men  are  the 
most  unmitigated  bores. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  student  of  the  wearer  of  the 
faded  tennis  cap  just  across  the  fireplace,  "  have  you 
solved  my  problem  for  me  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see  that  picture  again,"  said  the  other. 
He  took  the  photograph  and  held  it  at  arm's  length  j 
then  he  placed  it  on  the  shelf  and  inspected  it  at 
two  yards'  range ;  after  that  he  made  a  microscopic 
examination  at  close  quarters,  and  ended  by  turning 
up  his  soles  to  the  fire  and  his  face  to  the  ceiling. 
"  If  she  looks  anything  like  that"  —  he  spoke  im- 
pressively and  seemed  to  be  emotionally  affected, — 
u  go  pretty  blamed  quick  and  enlist  for  the  war." 

It  was  a  perfect  solution.  Who  would  know  of 
the  disgraceful  standing,  and  the  student  could  enter 
next  year  a  class  lower,  —  and  there  would  be  no 
more  loafing  —  not  by  a  long  shot.  And  the  next 
morning  H.  H.  Brown,  collegian,  enlisted  for  the 
Spanish  War. 

On  the  night  of  July  I  the  ex-judge's  daughter 
could  not  sleep,  so  she  threw  a  shawl  about  her 
shoulders  and  sat  by  the  window.  "  What  a  silly 
boy  !  "  she  muttered  anxiously,  and  meant  something 
else.  Then  she  looked  deep  into  the  unsoundable 
heaven-dome,  and  saw  visions  that  no  girl  but  an  army 
nurse  should  ever  see. 

•          •^••••« 

All  night  they  brought  in  the  wounded  to  Siboney 
—  men  who  would  be  helpless  as  babes  forevermore, 
216 


"The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight" 

men  whose  light  was  setting  in  black  eclipse.  A 
boy,  with  his  fair  hair  bedraggled  with  mud  and 
dust,  was  received  by  the  surgeons  with  a  deprecating 
smile,  which  meant  that  those  overworked  machines 
could  not  bother  with  those  who  needed  only  a  spade 
and  a  wooden  cross.  "  The  kid  wants  the  photograph 
sent  to  that  address,"  said  a  bearer,  thumbing  a  blood- 
stained portrait  of  a  young  girl  with  a  long  jagged 
groove  in  the  card  right  across  the  eyes.  "  Write  on 
the  back,  '  I  was  never  worth  using,  anyhow/  ' 

u  I  was  never  worthy  of  you,  anyway,"  corrected 
the  quick-witted  Red  Cross  helper  who  undertook  the 
mission,  looking  down  at  the  pale,  fine  face  of  the 
boy  and  guessing  a  romance.  And  then  they  laid 
him  away  in  a  stately  row  over  by  the  trees,  where 
many  had  already  entered  upon  the  long,  dawnless 
night.  He  tossed  wearily  and  babbled  of  brooks  and 
springs,  and  then  this  battered,  blood-stained  specimen 
of  humanity  began  a  wonderful  song  in  prose  about 
some  fair  young  face  which  had  no  more  business 
to  be  dragged  into  such  a  grim  scene  than  a  violet  in 
a  coal-mine ;  after  that  he  wanted  a  drink  of  water, 
and  asked  for  his  mother,  and  then  —  off  into  a 
great,  swimming,  shadow  world  of  flitting  void  and 
airy  nothingness.  The  great  scheme  had  worked 
beautifully  —  the  university  record  had  been  com- 
pletely wiped  out,  and  incidentally  something  else 
seemed  to  be  wiped  out  too ;  —  most  problems  in 
life  have  two  solutions,  and  occasionally  the  wrong 
one  will  turn  up. 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  of  July  three  of 
that  band  of  hopeless  cases  were  still  alive,  and  even 
gaining.  "  What  t'ell  are  ye  puttin*  me  with  these 
217 


"  The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight " 

dead  men  for  ?  "  asked  one.  "  Give  me  a  drink  of 
the  genewine  stuff,"  said  No.  2.  The  third  was  the 
boy,  and  he  talked  about  ice  and  Her  and  Her  and 
ice,  and  politely  requested  the  surgeon  to  go  climb  a 
tree,  which  that  dignitary  strangely  declined  to  do. 

Now  some  parts  of  Lat.  42°  N.  are  pleasant  for 
summer  resorts.  The  home  of  Brown  Senior  was 
fanned  by  the  hotel-keepers'  "salubrious  breezes." 
It  was  just  the  right  altitude  above  sea-level  for  the 
ex-judge's  disease  with  a  Greek  name,  and  he  straight- 
way took  a  cottage  for  that  season.  The  ex-judge's 
daughter  was  everywhere,  —  upon  the  old  hills,  and 
down  in  the  woody  ravines  ;  she  floated  in  a  canoe 
on  the  blue  lake,  and  spoiled  camera  films  by  the 
score.  But  all  of  a  sudden  the  camera  company 
ceased  to  receive  mutilated  pictures  and  double  ex- 
posures ;  all  of  a  sudden  she  ceased  the  long  twilights 
out  on  the  unruffled  lake  ;  all  of  a  sudden  she  stopped 
reading  Kipling,  and  laughed  and  cried  over  a  pho- 
tograph minus  the  eyes.  u  So  it  was  n't  just  admira- 
tion, and  he  really  did  care  ever  so  much,  and  he 
was  n't  just  hanging  around  because  he  did  n't  have 
anything  better  to  do,  and  so  funny  that  I  was  so 
blind,  —  blind  as  this  picture,  and  he  was  blind  too." 
And  then  she  looked  over  to  the  far  blue  hills 
and  the  white,  sun-streaked  river,  and  saw  ever  so 
much  farther,  —  people  can  occasionally  see  a  long 
distance  when  they  look  that  way,  —  quite  consider- 
ably beyond  the  bounds  of  this  little  world  with  its 
girdle  of  twenty-five  thousand  miles. 

And  then  one  day  there  came  a  stretcher,  and  an- 
other day  a  girl  stood  at  the  door  and  wanted  to  see 
218 


"  The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight  " 

the  patient.  "  He  may  not  know  you,  miss,"  said 
the  nurse ;  "  sometimes  he  's  off,  for  a  little  time." 
But  she  entered. 

u  Huh  !  "  exclaimed  the  invalid.  "  You  come  to 
nurse  too  ?  By  the  way,  you  're  about  the  homeliest 
I  've  seen  yet  —  not  a  bit  like  Her." 

"  Who 's  that  ?  "  she  asked  gently,  but  trembling. 

"  Who  's  she  ?  "  —  impatiently.  u  Why,  the  one 
with  the  eyes  taken  out  by  a  bullet.  I  had  three  in 
me.  So  she 's  blind  —  blind,  blind,  blind.  She  '11 
be  blind  till  some  Russian  count  comes  along ;  then 
her  eyes  '11  open.  Why,  I  did  it  all  for  her." 

«  Did  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  would  have  flunked  out  at  the  university, 
and  I  knew  her  father  would  break  off  everything 
then,  and  I  would  n't  even  get  a  chance  to  assassi- 
nate the  Russian  count.  So  I  went  to  the  war. 
Heroic,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

u  Yes,  and  you  went  up  the  hill  ahead  of  the  whole 
company,  after  being  shot  twice,"  she  said,  coloring. 
It  seemed  like  talking  to  a  lunatic,  but  a  lunatic  with 
a  glorious  record. 

He  smiled.  "I  was  thinking  of  Her;  thought 
She  was  looking  on.  To  tell  the  truth,  if  I  'd  been 
in  my  senses,  I  'd  have  been  behind  a  tree.  They  're 
made  for  sensible  men." 

"  Thought  of  me,  thought  /  was  looking  on,"  she 
said  dreamily. 

"  You !  who  said  you  ? "  he  exclaimed  gruffly, 
looking  hard  —  and  he  began  to  brush  cobwebs  from 
his  eyes.  "  I  do  believe  —  no  —  delirium  again." 

«  It 's  only  I,"  she  said. 

"  Only  !  Why,  I  Ve  been  seeing  you  for  a  month 
219 


"The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight'* 

back.  You  're  a  phantasm,  you  know.  You  must  n't 
talk  so  clearly  j  phantasms  don't." 

She  walked  quietly  up  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  hot 
cheek.  u  It  is  n't  delirium  this  time." 

He  pondered,  and  the  world  seemed  to  drift  back ; 
or  rather  he  seemed  to  drift  back  into  the  world. 

"  It  is  n't,"  he  said  soberly ;  "  but  it 's  worse. 
You  've  heard  all  I  've  said  and  will  go  and  laugh 
over  it." 

"  —  And  cry  over  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  because." 

He  looked  at  her  solemnly.  "  I  '11  tell  you  frankly, 
since  you  've  heard  all,"  he  said.  "  My  whole  world 
has  always  been  within  three  feet  radius  of  you.  You 
never  saw  it.  But  now  I  'm  only  an  old,  battered 
hulk,  with  three  bullet-holes,  and  it  '11  be  months, 
even,  before  I  'm  around,  and  a  year  before  I  get 
back  my  strength.  I  surrender ;  I  'm  out  of  the 
race.  But  you  were  worth  it,"  looking  at  her  ad- 
miringly. u  And  now,  I  suppose,  I  must  say  good- 
by  —  forever  —  forever,  of  course,  considering  that 
I  'm  not  plucky  at  all  on  such  things.  My  little 
scheme  did  n't  work,  you  see.  I  did  n't  bargain  for 
all  this."  He  was  making  a  gallant  effort  to  tide 
over  the  season  of  embarrassment. 

"  That  photograph  had  her  eyes  torn  out.  She 
was  blind ;  and  you  think  I  'm  blind  too,"  she 
mused. 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  right.  I  'm  a  mere  wreck,"  he 
protested,  not  knowing  what  she  was  driving  at. 

Her  eyes  were  on  him  with  that  old  look  of  mys- 
tery. It 's  a  pretty  good  thing  to  be  a  wreck  some- 

220 


"The  Blind  Receive  their  Sight" 

times.  A  .276-inch  perforation  can  now  and  then 
sweep  away  a  cloud  of  misunderstanding  very  quickly, 
and  a  mute,  inanimate  Mauser  ball  disentangle  what 
is  beyond  human  ingenuity.  I  imagine  the  girl  looked 
clear  through  the  eternities  that  time,  as  she  sank  on 
her  knees  by  the  bedside,  and,  resting  one  hand  on 
his,  whispered  to  him  that  secret.  And,  as  she 
touched  her  cheek  to  his,  the  revelation  broke  fully, 
and  he  laid  his  other  hand  on  hers,  and  the  sky  split, 
and  he  saw  into  the  seventh  heaven,  and  into  the 
seventh  of  the  seventh  —  which  is  the  forty-ninth  — 
and  —  But,  alas  !  I  understand  not  such  things  ;  and, 
praise  be  to  Allah  and  the  Prophet,  all  love  and  senti- 
ment are  to  me  but  a  sealed  book,  and  my  life  is  far 
removed  from  them  all,  now  and  evermore.  Amen 
and  Amen. 


221 


At  the  End 


AT  THE  END 

I  WONDER  did  you  understand, 
Or  if  you  ever  knew 
That  all  these  little  halting  songs 
Were  made  for  you  ? 

A  message  'cross  a  world  of  change, 

And  weary  leagues  of  space 
From  one  who  might  not  take  your  hands, 

Nor  see  your  face. 

Would  I  might  meeter  service  do, 

And  fairer  tribute  bring  — 
Than  these  poor  faltering  waifs  of  time 

From  love  and  spring. 

These  records,  fashioned  here  and  there 

Along  a  winding  way ; 
These  dying  echoes  of  a  past, 

Half  sad,  half  gay. 

All  broken  music  —  faint  and  thin, 

Ah,  might  I  give  instead 
The  lyrics  that  my  heart  has  sung 

In  words  unsaid  ! 

Yet  take  them,  Dear,  —  for  good  or  ill, 

To  you  they  all  belong, 
Who  are  the  singing's  very  soul, 

Heart  of  the  song ! 
222 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY — TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


M71836 


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